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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421198" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Second Sunday In Lent</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;And is there in God's world so drear a place<br> Where the loud bitter cry is raised in vain?<br>Where tears of penance come too late for grace,<br> As on the uprooted flower the genial rain?&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis even so: the sovereign Lord of souls<br> Stores in the dungeon of His boundless realm<br>Each bolt that o'er the sinner vainly rolls,<br> With gathered wrath the reprobate to whelm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Will the storm hear the sailor's piteous cry,<br> Taught so mistrust, too late, the tempting wave,<br>When all around he sees but sea and sky,<br> A God in anger, a self-chosen grave?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or will the thorns, that strew intemperance' bed,<br> Turn with a wish to down? will late remorse<br>Recall the shaft the murderer's hand has sped,<br> Or from the guiltless bosom turn its course?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then may the unbodied soul in safety fleet<br> Through the dark curtains of the world above,<br>Fresh from the stain of crime; nor fear to meet<br> The God whom here she would not learn to love;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then is there hope for such as die unblest,<br> That angel wings may waft them to the shore,<br>Nor need the unready virgin strike her breast,<br> Nor wait desponding round the bridegroom's door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But where is then the stay of contrite hearts?<br> Of old they leaned on Thy eternal word,<br>But with the sinner's fear their hope departs,<br> Fast linked as Thy great Name to Thee, O Lord:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That Name, by which Thy faithful oath is past,<br> That we should endless be, for joy or woe:-<br>And if the treasures of Thy wrath could waste,<br> Thy lovers must their promised Heaven forego.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But ask of elder days, earth's vernal hour,<br> When in familiar talk God's voice was heard,<br>When at the Patriarch's call the fiery shower<br> Propitious o'er the turf-built shrine appeared.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Watch by our father Isaac's pastoral door -<br> The birthright sold, the blessing lost and won;<br>Tell, Heaven has wrath that can relent no more;<br> The Grave, dark deeds that cannot be undone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We barter life for pottage; sell true bliss<br> For wealth or power, for pleasure or renown;<br>Thus, Esau-like, our Father's blessing miss,<br> Then wash with fruitless tears our faded crown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our faded crown, despised and flung aside,<br> Shall on some brother's brow immortal bloom;<br>No partial hand the blessing may misguide,<br> No flattering fancy change our Monarch's doom:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His righteous doom, that meek true-hearted<br> Love<br> The everlasting birthright should receive,<br>The softest dews drop on her from above,<br> The richest green her mountain garland weave:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her brethren, mightiest, wisest, eldest-born,<br> Bow to her sway, and move at her behest;<br>Isaac's fond blessing may not fall on scorn,<br> Nor Balaam's curse on Love, which God hath blest.</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=421198" data-title="Second Sunday In Lent de John Keble" data-description="&quot;And is there in God's world so drear a place
 Where the loud bitter cry is raised in vain?
Where tears of penance come too late for grace,
 As on the uprooted flower the genial rain?&quot;

'Tis even so: the sovereign Lord of souls
 Stores i..."></div>
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