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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420431" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Adjustment</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed<br>That nearer heaven the living ones may climb;<br>The false must fail, though from our shores of time<br>The old lament be heard, 'Great Pan is dead!'<br>That wail is Error's, from his high place hurled;<br>This sharp recoil is Evil undertrod;<br>Our time's unrest, an angel sent of God<br>Troubling with life the waters of the world.<br>Even as they list the winds of the Spirit blow<br>To turn or break our century-rusted vanes;<br>Sands shift and waste; the rock alone remains<br>Where, led of Heaven, the strong tides come and go,<br>And storm-clouds, rent by thunderbolt and wind,<br>Leave, free of mist, the permanent stars behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Therefore I trust, although to outward sense<br>Both true and false seem shaken; I will hold<br>With newer light my reverence for the old,<br>And calmly wait the births of Providence.<br>No gain is lost; the clear-eyed saints look down<br>Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and creeds;<br>Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds<br>Counting in task-field and o'erpeopled town;<br>Truth has charmed life; the Inward Word survives,<br>And, day by day, its revelation brings;<br>Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things<br>Which cannot be shaken, stand. Still holy lives<br>Reveal the Christ of whom the letter told,<br>And the new gospel verifies the old.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420431" data-title="Adjustment de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed
That nearer heaven the living ones may climb;
The false must fail, though from our shores of time
The old lament be heard, 'Great Pan is dead!'
That wail is Error's, from his high place hurled;
This..."></div>
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