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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421202" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sexegesima Sunday</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Foe of mankind! too bold thy race:<br> Thou runn'st at such a reckless pace,<br>Thine own dire work thou surely wilt confound:<br> 'Twas but one little drop of sin<br> We saw this morning enter in,<br>And lo! at eventide the world is drowned.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> See here the fruit of wandering eyes,<br> Of worldly longings to be wise,<br>Of Passion dwelling on forbidden sweets:<br> Ye lawless glances, freely rove;<br> Ruin below and wrath above<br>Are all that now the wildering fancy meets.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Lord, when in some deep garden glade,<br> Of Thee and of myself afraid.<br>From thoughts like these among the bowers I hide,<br> Nearest and loudest then of all<br> I seem to hear the Judge's call:-<br>&quot;Where art thou, fallen man? come forth, and be thou tried.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Trembling before Thee as I stand,<br> Where'er I gaze on either hand<br>The sentence is gone forth, the ground is cursed:<br> Yet mingled with the penal shower<br> Some drops of balm in every bower<br>Steal down like April dews, that softest fall and first.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> If filial and maternal love<br> Memorial of our guilt must prove,<br>If sinful babes in sorrow must be born,<br> Yet, to assuage her sharpest throes,<br> The faithful mother surely knows,<br>This was the way Thou cam'st to save the world forlorn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> If blessed wedlock may not bless<br> Without some tinge of bitterness<br>To dash her cup of joy, since Eden lost,<br> Chaining to earth with strong desire<br> Hearts that would highest else aspire,<br>And o'er the tenderer sex usurping ever most;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Yet by the light of Christian lore<br> 'Tis blind Idolatry no more,<br>But a sweet help and pattern of true love,<br> Showing how best the soul may cling<br> To her immortal Spouse and King,<br>How He should rule, and she with full desire approve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> If niggard Earth her treasures hide,<br> To all but labouring hands denied,<br>Lavish of thorns and worthless weeds alone,<br> The doom is half in mercy given,<br> To train us in our way to Heaven,<br>And show our lagging souls how glory must be won.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> If on the sinner's outward frame<br> God hath impressed His mark of blame,<br>And e'en our bodies shrink at touch of light,<br> Yet mercy hath not left us bare:<br> The very weeds we daily wear<br>Are to Faith's eye a pledge of God's forgiving might.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And oh! if yet one arrow more,<br> The sharpest of the Almighty's store,<br>Tremble upon the string--a sinner's death -<br> Art Thou not by to soothe and save,<br> To lay us gently in the grave,<br>To close the weary eye and hush the parting breath?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Therefore in sight of man bereft<br> The happy garden still was left;<br>The fiery sword that guarded, showed it too;<br> Turning all ways, the world to teach,<br> That though as yet beyond our reach,<br>Still in its place the tree of life and glory grew.</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=421202" data-title="Sexegesima Sunday de John Keble" data-description="Foe of mankind! too bold thy race:
 Thou runn'st at such a reckless pace,
Thine own dire work thou surely wilt confound:
 'Twas but one little drop of sin
 We saw this morning enter in,
And lo! at eventide the world is drowned.

 See here the frui..."></div>
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