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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421218" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>St. Philip And St. James</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear is the morning gale of spring,<br> And dear th' autumnal eve;<br>But few delights can summer bring<br> A Poet's crown to weave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry,<br> And ever Fancy's wing<br>Speed's from beneath her cloudless sky<br> To autumn or to spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet is the infant's waking smile,<br> And sweet the old man's rest -<br>But middle age by no fond wile,<br> No soothing calm is blest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still in the world's hot restless gleam<br> She plies her weary task,<br>While vainly for some pleasant dream<br> Her wandering glances ask. -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O shame upon thee, listless heart,<br> So sad a sigh to heave,<br>As if thy SAVIOUR had no part<br> In thoughts, that make thee grieve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As if along His lonesome way<br> He had not borne for thee<br>Sad languors through the summer day,<br> Storms on the wintry sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Youth's lightning flash of joy secure<br> Passed seldom o'er His spright, -<br>A well of serious thought and pure.<br> Too deep for earthly light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No spring was His--no fairy gleam -<br> For He by trial knew<br>How cold and bare what mortals dream,<br> To worlds where all is true.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then grudge not thou the anguish keen<br> Which makes thee like thy LORD,<br>And learn to quit with eye serene<br> Thy youth's ideal hoard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy treasured hopes and raptures high -<br> Unmurmuring let them go,<br>Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly<br> Which CHRIST disdained to know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon;<br> The pure, calm hope be thine,<br>Which brightens, like the eastern moon,<br> As day's wild lights decline.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus souls, by nature pitched too high,<br> By sufferings plunged too low,<br>Meet in the Church's middle sky,<br> Half way 'twixt joy and woe,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To practise there the soothing lay<br> That sorrow best relieves;<br>Thankful for all God takes away,<br> Humbled by all He glass.</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=421218" data-title="St. Philip And St. James de John Keble" data-description="Dear is the morning gale of spring,
 And dear th' autumnal eve;
But few delights can summer bring
 A Poet's crown to weave.

Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry,
 And ever Fancy's wing
Speed's from beneath her cloudless sky
 To autumn or to spr..."></div>
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