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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421174" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Fourth Sunday After Trinity</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was not then a poet's dream,<br> An idle vaunt of song,<br>Such as beneath the moon's soft gleam<br> On vacant fancies throng;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Which bids us see in heaven and earth,<br> In all fair things around,<br>Strong yearnings for a blest new birth<br> With sinless glories crowned;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Which bids us hear, at each sweet pause<br> From care and want and toil,<br>When dewy eve her curtain draws<br> Over the day's turmoil,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the low chant of wakeful birds,<br> In the deep weltering flood,<br>In whispering leaves, these solemn words -<br> &quot;God made us all for good.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All true, all faultless, all in tune<br> Creation's wondrous choir,<br>Opened in mystic unison<br> To last till time expire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still it lasts; by day and night,<br> With one consenting voice,<br>All hymn Thy glory, Lord, aright,<br> All worship and rejoice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Man only mars the sweet accord<br> O'erpowering with &quot;harsh din&quot;<br>The music of Thy works and word,<br> Ill matched with grief and sin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sin is with man at morning break,<br> And through the livelong day<br>Deafens the ear that fain would wake<br> To Nature's simple lay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when eve's silent footfall steals<br> Along the eastern sky,<br>And one by one to earth reveals<br> Those purer fires on high,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When one by one each human sound<br> Dies on the awful ear,<br>Then Nature's voice no more is drowned,<br> She speaks, and we must hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then pours she on the Christian heart<br> That warning still and deep,<br>At which high spirits of old would start<br> E'en from their Pagan sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just guessing, through their murky blind<br> Few, faint, and baffling sight,<br>Streaks of a brighter heaven behind,<br> A cloudless depth of light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise,<br> Through many a dreary age,<br>Upbore whate'er of good and wise<br> Yet lived in bard or sage:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They marked what agonizing throes<br> Shook the great mother's womb:<br>But Reason's spells might not disclose<br> The gracious birth to come:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor could the enchantress Hope forecast<br> God's secret love and power;<br>The travail pangs of Earth must last<br> Till her appointed hour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hour that saw from opening heaven<br> Redeeming glory stream,<br>Beyond the summer hues of even,<br> Beyond the mid-day beam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire,<br> The meanest thing below,<br>As with a seraph's robe of fire<br> Invested, burn and glow:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The rod of Heaven has touched them all,<br> The word from Heaven is spoken:<br>&quot;Rise, shine, and sing, thou captive thrall;<br> Are not thy fetters broken?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;The God Who hallowed thee and blest,<br> Pronouncing thee all good -<br>Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest,<br> And all thy bliss renewed?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft,<br> Now that th' eternal Son<br>His blessed home in Heaven hath left<br> To make thee all His own?&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou mourn'st because sin lingers still<br> In Christ's new heaven and earth;<br>Because our rebel works and will<br> Stain our immortal birth:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold,<br> The Saviour hides His face,<br>And worldlings blot the temple's gold<br> With uses vile and base.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hence all thy groans and travail pains,<br> Hence, till thy God return,<br>In Wisdom's ear thy blithest strains,<br> Oh Nature, seem to mourn.</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=421174" data-title="Fourth Sunday After Trinity de John Keble" data-description="It was not then a poet's dream,
 An idle vaunt of song,
Such as beneath the moon's soft gleam
 On vacant fancies throng;

Which bids us see in heaven and earth,
 In all fair things around,
Strong yearnings for a blest new birth
 With sinless glori..."></div>
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