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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421225" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tenth Sunday After Trinity</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why doth my Saviour weep<br> At sight of Sion's bowers?<br>Shows it not fair from yonder steep,<br> Her gorgeous crown of towers?<br>Mark well His holy pains:<br> 'Tis not in pride or scorn,<br>That Israel's King with sorrow stains<br> His own triumphal morn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is not that His soul<br> Is wandering sadly on,<br>In thought how soon at death's dark goal<br> Their course will all be run,<br>Who now are shouting round<br> Hosanna to their chief;<br>No thought like this in Him is found,<br> This were a Conquerer's grief.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or doth He feel the Cross<br> Already in His heart,<br>The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss?<br> Feel e'en His God depart?<br>No: though He knew full well<br> The grief that then shall be -<br>The grief that angels cannot tell -<br> Our God in agony.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is not thus He mourns;<br> Such might be martyr's tears,<br>When his last lingering look he turns<br> On human hopes and fears;<br>But hero ne'er or saint<br> The secret load might know,<br>With which His spirit waxeth faint;<br> His is a Saviour's woe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;If thou had'st known, e'en thou,<br> At least in this thy day,<br>The message of thy peace! but now<br> 'Tis passed for aye away:<br>Now foes shall trench thee round,<br> And lay thee even with earth,<br>And dash thy children to the ground,<br> Thy glory and thy mirth.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And doth the Saviour weep<br> Over His people's sin,<br>Because we will not let Him keep<br> The souls He died to win?<br>Ye hearts, that love the Lord,<br> If at this, sight ye burn,<br>See that in thought, in deed, in word,<br> Ye hate what made Him mourn.</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=421225" data-title="Tenth Sunday After Trinity de John Keble" data-description="Why doth my Saviour weep
 At sight of Sion's bowers?
Shows it not fair from yonder steep,
 Her gorgeous crown of towers?
Mark well His holy pains:
 'Tis not in pride or scorn,
That Israel's King with sorrow stains
 His own triumphal morn.

It is n..."></div>
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