<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421167" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>First Sunday After Epiphany</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lessons sweet of spring returning,<br> Welcome to the thoughtful heart!<br>May I call ye sense or learning,<br> Instinct pure, or Heaven-taught art?<br>Be your title what it may,<br>Sweet this lengthening April day,<br>While with you the soul is free,<br>Ranging wild o'er hill and lea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Soft as Memnon's harp at morning,<br> To the inward ear devout,<br>Touched by light, with heavenly warning<br> Your transporting chords ring out.<br>Every leaf in every nook,<br>Every wave in every brook,<br>Chanting with a solemn voice,<br>Minds us of our better choice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Needs no show of mountain hoary,<br> Winding shore or deepening glen,<br>Where the landscape in its glory<br> Teaches truth to wandering men:<br>Give true hearts but earth and sky,<br>And some flowers to bloom and die,<br>Homely scenes and simple views<br>Lowly thoughts may best infuse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">See the soft green willow springing<br> Where the waters gently pass,<br>Every way her free arms flinging<br> O'er the moist and reedy grass.<br>Long ere winter blasts are fled,<br>See her tipped with vernal red,<br>And her kindly flower displayed<br>Ere her leaf can cast a shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though the rudest hand assail her,<br> Patiently she droops awhile,<br>But when showers and breezes hail her,<br> Wears again her willing smile.<br>Thus I learn Contentment's power<br>From the slighted willow bower,<br>Ready to give thanks and live<br>On the least that Heaven may give.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If, the quiet brooklet leaving,<br> Up the stony vale I wind,<br>Haply half in fancy grieving<br> For the shades I leave behind,<br>By the dusty wayside drear,<br>Nightingales with joyous cheer<br>Sing, my sadness to reprove,<br>Gladlier than in cultured grove.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where the thickest boughs are twining<br> Of the greenest darkest tree,<br>There they plunge, the light declining -<br> All may hear, but none may see.<br>Fearless of the passing hoof,<br>Hardly will they fleet aloof;<br>So they live in modest ways,<br>Trust entire, and ceaseless praise.</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> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=421167" data-title="First Sunday After Epiphany de John Keble" data-description="Lessons sweet of spring returning, Welcome to the thoughtful heart! May I call ye sense or learning, Instinct pure, or Heaven-taught art? Be your title what it may, Sweet this lengthening April day, While with you the soul is free, Ranging wild ..."></div> </div> </div>

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