Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421229" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Conversion Of St. Paul</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The mid-day sun, with fiercest glare,<br>Broods o'er the hazy twinkling air:<br> Along the level sand<br>The palm-tree's shade unwavering lies,<br>Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise<br> To greet you wearied band.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The leader of that martial crew<br>Seems bent some mighty deed to do,<br> So steadily he speeds,<br>With lips firm closed and fixed eye,<br>Like warrior when the fight is night,<br> Nor talk nor landscape heeds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What sudden blaze is round him poured,<br>As though all Heaven's refulgent hoard<br> In one rich glory shone?<br>One moment--and to earth he falls:<br>What voice his inmost heart appalls? -<br> Voice heard by him alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For to the rest both words and form<br>Seem lost in lightning and in storm,<br> While Saul, in wakeful trance,<br>Sees deep within that dazzling field<br>His persecuted Lord revealed,<br> With keen yet pitying glance:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And hears time meek upbraiding call<br>As gently on his spirit fall,<br> As if th' Almighty Son<br>Were prisoner yet in this dark earth,<br>Nor had proclaimed His royal birth,<br> Nor His great power begun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Ah! wherefore persecut'st thou Me?&quot;<br>He heard and saw, and sought to free<br> His strained eyes from the sight:<br>But Heaven's high magic bound it there,<br>Still gazing, though untaught to bear<br> Th' insufferable light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Who art Thou, Lord?&quot; he falters forth:-<br>So shall Sin ask of heaven and earth<br> At the last awful day.<br>&quot;When did we see Thee suffering nigh,<br>And passed Thee with unheeding eye?<br> Great God of judgment, say!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! little dream our listless eyes<br>What glorious presence they despise,<br> While, in our noon of life,<br>To power or fame we rudely press. -<br>Christ is at hand, to scorn or bless,<br> Christ suffers in our strife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And though heaven's gate long since have closed,<br>And our dear Lord in bliss reposed,<br> High above mortal ken,<br>To every ear in every land<br>(Thought meek ears only understand)<br> He speaks as he did then.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Ah! wherefore persecute ye Me?<br>'Tis hard, ye so in love should be<br> With your own endless woe.<br>Know, though at God's right hand I live,<br>I feel each wound ye reckless give<br> To the least saint below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I in your care My brethren left,<br>Not willing ye should be bereft<br> Of waiting on your Lord.<br>The meanest offering ye can make -<br>A drop of water--for love's sake,<br> In Heaven, be sure, is stored.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O by those gentle tones and dear,<br>When thou hast stayed our wild career,<br> Thou only hope of souls,<br>Ne'er let us cast one look behind,<br>But in the thought of Jesus find<br> What every thought controls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As to Thy last Apostle's heart<br>Thy lightning glance did then impart<br> Zeal's never-dying fire,<br>So teach us on Thy shrine to lay<br>Our hearts, and let them day by day<br> Intenser blaze and higher.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And as each mild and winning note<br>(Like pulses that round harp-strings float<br> When the full strain is o'er)<br>Left lingering on his inward ear<br>Music, that taught, as death drew near,<br> Love's lesson more and more:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, as we walk our earthly round,<br>Still may the echo of that sound<br> Be in our memory stored<br>&quot;Christians! behold your happy state:<br>Christ is in these, who round you wait;<br> Make much of your dear Lord!&quot;</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>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=421229" data-title="The Conversion Of St. Paul de John Keble" data-description="The mid-day sun, with fiercest glare,
Broods o'er the hazy twinkling air:
 Along the level sand
The palm-tree's shade unwavering lies,
Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise
 To greet you wearied band.

The leader of that martial crew
Seems bent some ..."></div>
</div>
</div>