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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421236" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Third Sunday In Advent</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">What went ye out to see<br> O'er the rude sandy lea,<br>Where stately Jordan flows by many a palm,<br> Or where Gennesaret's wave<br> Delights the flowers to lave,<br>That o'er her western slope breathe airs of balm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> All through the summer night,<br> Those blossoms red and bright<br>Spread their soft breasts, unheeding, to the breeze,<br> Like hermits watching still<br> Around the sacred hill,<br>Where erst our Saviour watched upon His knees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The Paschal moon above<br> Seems like a saint to rove,<br>Left shining in the world with Christ alone;<br> Below, the lake's still face<br> Sleeps sweetly in th' embrace<br>Of mountains terrac'd high with mossy stone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Here may we sit, and dream<br> Over the heavenly theme,<br>Till to our soul the former days return;<br> Till on the grassy bed,<br> Where thousands once He fed,<br>The world's incarnate Maker we discern.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O cross no more the main,<br> Wandering so will and vain,<br>To count the reeds that tremble in the wind,<br> On listless dalliance bound,<br> Like children gazing round,<br>Who on God's works no seal of Godhead find.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Bask not in courtly bower,<br> Or sun-bright hall of power,<br>Pass Babel quick, and seek the holy land -<br> From robes of Tyrian dye<br> Turn with undazzled eye<br>To Bethlehem's glade, or Carmel's haunted strand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Or choose thee out a cell<br> In Kedron's storied dell,<br>Beside the springs of Love, that never die;<br> Among the olives kneel<br> The chill night-blast to feel,<br>And watch the Moon that saw thy Master's agony.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Then rise at dawn of day,<br> And wind thy thoughtful way,<br>Where rested once the Temple's stately shade,<br> With due feet tracing round<br> The city's northern bound,<br>To th' other holy garden, where the Lord was laid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Who thus alternate see<br> His death and victory,<br>Rising and falling as on angel wings,<br> They, while they seem to roam,<br> Draw daily nearer home,<br>Their heart untravell'd still adores the King of kings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Or, if at home they stay,<br> Yet are they, day by day,<br>In spirit journeying through the glorious land,<br> Not for light Fancy's reed,<br> Nor Honour's purple meed,<br>Nor gifted Prophet's lore, nor Science' wondrous wand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But more than Prophet, more<br> Than Angels can adore<br>With face unveiled, is He they go to seek:<br> Blessed be God, Whose grace<br> Shows Him in every place<br>To homeliest hearts of pilgrims pure and meek.</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=421236" data-title="Third Sunday In Advent de John Keble" data-description="What went ye out to see
 O'er the rude sandy lea,
Where stately Jordan flows by many a palm,
 Or where Gennesaret's wave
 Delights the flowers to lave,
That o'er her western slope breathe airs of balm.

 All through the summer night,
 Those blosso..."></div>
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