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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421232" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Restoration Of The Royal Family</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As when the Paschal week is o'er,<br>Sleeps in the silent aisles no more<br> The breath of sacred song,<br>But by the rising Saviour's light<br>Awakened soars in airy flight,<br> Or deepening rolls along;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The while round altar, niche, and shrine,<br>The funeral evergreens entwine,<br> And a dark brilliance cast,<br>The brighter for their hues of gloom,<br>Tokens of Him, who through the tomb<br> Into high glory passed:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such were the lights and such the strains.<br>When proudly streamed o'er ocean plains<br> Our own returning Cross;<br>For with that triumph seemed to float<br>Far on the breeze one dirge-like note<br> Of orphanhood and loss.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Father and King, oh where art thou?<br>A greener wreath adorns thy brow,<br> And clearer rays surround;<br>O, for one hour of prayer like thine,<br>To plead before th' all-ruling shrine<br> For Britain lost and found!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he, whose mild persuasive voice<br>Taught us in trials to rejoice,<br> Most like a faithful dove,<br>That by some ruined homestead builds,<br>And pours to the forsaken fields<br> His wonted lay of love:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why comes he not to bear his part,<br>To lift and guide th' exulting heart? -<br> A hand that cannot spars<br>Lies heavy on his gentle breast:<br>We wish him health; he sighs for rest,<br> And Heaven accepts the prayer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes, go in peace, dear placid spright,<br>Ill spared; but would we store aright<br> Thy serious sweet farewell,<br>We need not grudge thee to the skies,<br>Sure after thee in time to rise,<br> With thee for ever dwell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till then, whene'er with duteous hand,<br>Year after year, my native Land<br> Her royal offering brings,<br>Upon the Altar lays the Crown,<br>And spreads her robes of old renown<br> Before the King of kings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Be some kind spirit, likest thine,<br>Ever at hand, with airs divine<br> The wandering heart to seize;<br>Whispering, &quot;How long hast thou to live,<br>That thou should'st Hope or Fancy gave<br> To flowers or crowns like these?&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>
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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=421232" data-title="The Restoration Of The Royal Family de John Keble" data-description="As when the Paschal week is o'er,
Sleeps in the silent aisles no more
 The breath of sacred song,
But by the rising Saviour's light
Awakened soars in airy flight,
 Or deepening rolls along;

The while round altar, niche, and shrine,
The funeral ev..."></div>
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