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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421197" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Second Sunday In Advent</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not till the freezing blast is still,<br>Till freely leaps the sparkling rill,<br>And gales sweep soft from summer skies,<br>As o'er a sleeping infant's eyes<br>A mother's kiss; ere calls like these,<br>No sunny gleam awakes the trees,<br>Nor dare the tender flowerets show<br>Their bosoms to th' uncertain glow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why then, in sad and wintry time,<br>Her heavens all dark with doubt and crime,<br>Why lifts the Church her drooping head,<br>As though her evil hour were fled?<br>Is she less wise than leaves of spring,<br>Or birds that cower with folded wing?<br>What sees she in this lowering sky<br>To tempt her meditative eye?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She has a charm, a word of fire,<br>A pledge of love that cannot tire;<br>By tempests, earthquakes, and by wars,<br>By rushing waves and falling stars,<br>By every sign her Lord foretold,<br>She sees the world is waxing old,<br>And through that last and direst storm<br>Descries by faith her Saviour's form.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not surer does each tender gem,<br>Set in the fig-tree's polish'd stem,<br>Foreshow the summer season bland,<br>Than these dread signs Thy mighty hand:<br>But, oh, frail hearts, and spirits dark!<br>The season's flight unwarn'd we mark,<br>But miss the Judge behind the door,<br>For all the light of sacred lore:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet is He there; beneath our eaves<br>Each sound His wakeful ear receives:<br>Hush, idle words, and thoughts of ill,<br>Your Lord is listening: peace, be still.<br>Christ watches by a Christian's hearth,<br>Be silent, &quot;vain deluding mirth,&quot;<br>Till in thine alter'd voice be known<br>Somewhat of Resignation's tone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But chiefly ye should lift your gaze<br>Above the world's uncertain haze,<br>And look with calm unwavering eye<br>On the bright fields beyond the sky,<br>Ye, who your Lord's commission bear<br>His way of mercy to prepare:<br>Angels He calls ye: be your strife<br>To lead on earth an Angel's life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Think not of rest; though dreams be sweet,<br>Start up, and ply your heavenward feet.<br>Is not God's oath upon your head,<br>Ne'er to sink back on slothful bed,<br>Never again your loans untie,<br>Nor let your torches waste and die,<br>Till, when the shadows thickest fall,<br>Ye hear your Master's midnight call?</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=421197" data-title="Second Sunday In Advent de John Keble" data-description="Not till the freezing blast is still,
Till freely leaps the sparkling rill,
And gales sweep soft from summer skies,
As o'er a sleeping infant's eyes
A mother's kiss; ere calls like these,
No sunny gleam awakes the trees,
Nor dare the tender flower..."></div>
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