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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421224" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sunday Next Before Advent</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Will God indeed with fragments bear,<br> Snatched late from the decaying year?<br> Or can the Saviour's blood endear<br> The dregs of a polluted life?<br> When down th' o'erwhelming current tossed<br> Just ere he sink for ever lost,<br> The sailor's untried arms are crossed<br>In agonizing prayer, will Ocean cease her strife?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Sighs that exhaust but not relieve<br> Heart-rending sighs, O spare to heave<br> A bosom freshly taught to grieve<br> For lavished hours and love misspent!<br> Now through her round of holy thought<br> The Church our annual steps has brought,<br> But we no holy fire have caught -<br>Back on the gaudy world our wilful eyes were bent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Too soon th' ennobling carols, poured<br> To hymn the birth-night of the LORD,<br> Which duteous Memory should have stored<br> For thankful echoing all the year -<br> Too soon those airs have passed away;<br> Nor long within the heart would stay<br> The silence of CHRIST'S dying day,<br>Profaned by worldly mirth, or scared by worldly fear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Some strain of hope and victory<br> On Easter wings might lift us high<br> A little while we sought the sky:<br> And when the SPIRIT'S beacon fires<br> On every hill began to blare,<br> Lightening the world with glad amaze,<br> Who but must kindle while they gaze?<br>But faster than she soars, our earth-bound Fancy tires.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Nor yet for these, nor all the rites,<br> By which our Mother's voice invites<br> Our GOD to bless our home delights,<br> And sweeten every secret tear:-<br> The funeral dirge, the marriage vow,<br> The hollowed font where parents bow,<br> And now elate and trembling now<br>To the Redeemer's feet their new-found treasures bear:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Not for this Pastor's gracious arm<br> Stretched out to bless--a Christian charm<br> To dull the shafts of worldly harm:-<br> Nor, sweetest, holiest, best of all<br> For the dear feast of JESUS dying,<br> Upon that altar ever lying,<br> Where souls with sacred hunger sighing<br>Are called to sit and eat, while angels prostrate fall:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> No, not for each and all of these,<br> Have our frail spirits found their ease.<br> The gale that stirs the autumnal trees<br> Seems tuned as truly to our hearts<br> As when, twelve weary months ago,<br> 'Twas moaning bleak, so high and low,<br> You would have thought Remorse and Woe<br>Had taught the innocent air their sadly thrilling parts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Is it, CHRIST'S light is too divine,<br> We dare not hope like Him to shine?<br> But see, around His dazzling shrine<br> Earths gems the fire of Heaven have caught;<br> Martyrs and saints--each glorious day<br> Dawning in order on our way -<br> Remind us, how our darksome clay<br>May keep th' ethereal warmth our new Creator brought.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> These we have scorned, O false and frail!<br> And now once more th' appalling tale,<br> How love divine may woo and fail,<br> Of our lost year in Heaven is told -<br> What if as far our life were past,<br> Our weeks all numbered to the last,<br> With time and hope behind us cast,<br>And all our work to do with palsied hands and cold?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O watch and pray ere Advent dawn!<br> For thinner than the subtlest lawn<br> 'Twixt thee and death the veil is drawn.<br> But Love too late can never glow:<br> The scattered fragments Love can glean<br> Refine the dregs, and yield us clean<br> To regions where one thought serene<br>Breathes sweeter than whole years of sacrifice below.</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=421224" data-title="Sunday Next Before Advent de John Keble" data-description="Will God indeed with fragments bear,
 Snatched late from the decaying year?
 Or can the Saviour's blood endear
 The dregs of a polluted life?
 When down th' o'erwhelming current tossed
 Just ere he sink for ever lost,
 The sailor's untried arms ar..."></div>
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