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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421144" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Advent Sunday</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Awake--again the Gospel-trump is blown -<br>From year to year it swells with louder tone,<br> From year to year the signs of wrath<br> Are gathering round the Judge's path,<br>Strange words fulfilled, and mighty works achieved,<br>And truth in all the world both hated and believed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Awake! why linger in the gorgeous town,<br>Sworn liegemen of the Cross and thorny crown?<br> Up from your beds of sloth for shame,<br> Speed to the eastern mount like flame,<br>Nor wonder, should ye find your King in tears,<br>E'en with the loud Hosanna ringing in His ears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas! no need to rouse them: long ago<br>They are gone forth to swell Messiah's show:<br> With glittering robes and garlands sweet<br> They strew the ground beneath His feet:<br>All but your hearts are there--O doomed to prove<br>The arrows winged in Heaven for Faith that will not love!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Meanwhile He passes through th' adoring crowd,<br>Calm as the march of some majestic cloud,<br> That o'er wild scenes of ocean-war<br> Holds its still course in Heaven afar:<br>E'en so, heart-searching Lord, as years roll on,<br>Thou keepest silent watch from Thy triumphal throne:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">E'en so, the world is thronging round to gaze<br>On the dread vision of the latter days,<br> Constrained to own Thee, but in heart<br> Prepared to take Barabbas' part:<br>&quot;Hosanna&quot; now, to-morrow &quot;Crucify,&quot;<br>The changeful burden still of their rude lawless cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet in that throng of selfish hearts untrue<br>Thy sad eye rests upon Thy faithful few,<br> Children and childlike souls are there,<br> Blind Bartimeus' humble prayer,<br>And Lazarus wakened from his four days' sleep,<br>Enduring life again, that Passover to keep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And fast beside the olive-bordered way<br>Stands the blessed home where Jesus deigned to stay,<br> The peaceful home, to Zeal sincere<br> And heavenly Contemplation dear,<br>Where Martha loved to wait with reverence meet,<br>And wiser Mary lingered at Thy sacred feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still through decaying ages as they glide,<br>Thou lov'st Thy chosen remnant to divide;<br> Sprinkled along the waste of years<br> Full many a soft green isle appears:<br>Pause where we may upon the desert road,<br>Some shelter is in sight, some sacred safe abode.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When withering blasts of error swept the sky,<br>And Love's last flower seemed fain to droop and die,<br> How sweet, how lone the ray benign<br> On sheltered nooks of Palestine!<br>Then to his early home did Love repair,<br>And cheered his sickening heart with his own native air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Years roll away: again the tide of crime<br>Has swept Thy footsteps from the favoured clime<br> Where shall the holy Cross find rest?<br> On a crowned monarch's mailed breast:<br>Like some bright angel o'er the darkling scene,<br>Through court and camp he holds his heavenward course serene.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A fouler vision yet; an age of light,<br>Light without love, glares on the aching sight:<br> Oh, who can tell how calm and sweet,<br> Meek Walton, shows thy green retreat,<br>When wearied with the tale thy times disclose,<br>The eye first finds thee out in thy secure repose?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus bad and good their several warnings give<br>Of His approach, whom none may see and live:<br> Faith's ear, with awful still delight,<br> Counts them like minute-bells at night.<br>Keeping the heart awake till dawn of morn,<br>While to her funeral pile this aged world is borne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But what are Heaven's alarms to hearts that cower<br>In wilful slumber, deepening every hour,<br> That draw their curtains closer round,<br> The nearer swells the trumpet's sound?<br>Lord, ere our trembling lamps sink down and die,<br>Touch us with chastening hand, and make us feel Thee nigh.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Keble">John Keble</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=421144" data-title="Advent Sunday de John Keble" data-description="Awake--again the Gospel-trump is blown -
From year to year it swells with louder tone,
 From year to year the signs of wrath
 Are gathering round the Judge's path,
Strange words fulfilled, and mighty works achieved,
And truth in all the world both..."></div>
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