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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421243" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tuesday In Whitsun-Week</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Lord, in Thy field I work all day,<br>I read, I teach, I warn, I pray,<br>And yet these wilful wandering sheep<br>Within Thy fold I cannot keep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I journey, yet no step is won -<br>Alas! the weary course I run!<br>Like sailors shipwrecked in their dreams,<br>All powerless and benighted seems.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What? wearied out with half a life?<br>Scared with this smooth unbloody strife?<br>Think where thy coward hopes had flown<br>Had Heaven held out the martyr's crown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How couldst thou hang upon the cross,<br>To whom a weary hour is loss?<br>Or how the thorns and scourging brook<br>Who shrinkest from a scornful look?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet ere thy craven spirit faints,<br>Hear thine own King, the King of Saints;<br>Though thou wert toiling in the grave,<br>'Tis He can cheer thee, He can save.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He is th' eternal mirror bright,<br>Where Angels view the FATHER'S light,<br>And yet in Him the simplest swain<br>May read his homely lesson plain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Early to quit His home on earth,<br>And claim His high celestial birth,<br>Alone with His true Father found<br>Within the temple's solemn round:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet in meek duty to abide<br>For many a year at Mary's side,<br>Nor heed, though restless spirits ask,<br>&quot;What, hath the Christ forgot His task?&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Conscious of Deity within,<br>To bow before an heir of sin,<br>With folded arms on humble breast,<br>By His own servant washed and blest:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then full of Heaven, the mystic Dove<br>Hovering His gracious brow above,<br>To shun the voice and eye of praise,<br>And in the wild His trophies raise:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With hymns of angels in His ears,<br>Back to His task of woe and tears,<br>Unmurmuring through the world to roam<br>With not a wish or thought at home:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All but Himself to heal and save,<br>Till ripened for the cross and grave,<br>He to His Father gently yield<br>The breath that our redemption sealed:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then to unearthly life arise,<br>Yet not at once to seek the skies,<br>But glide awhile from saint to saint,<br>Lest on our lonely way we faint;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And through the cloud by glimpses show<br>How bright, in Heaven, the marks will glow<br>Of the true cross, imprinted deep<br>Both on the Shepherd and the sheep:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When out of sight, in heart and prayer,<br>Thy chosen people still to bear,<br>And from behind Thy glorious veil,<br>Shed light that cannot change or fail:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is Thy pastoral course, O LORD,<br>Till we be saved, and Thou adored; -<br>Thy course and ours--but who are they<br>Who follow on the narrow way?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet of Thee from year to year<br>The Church's solemn chant we hear,<br>As from Thy cradle to Thy throne<br>She swells her high heart-cheering tone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Listen, ye pure white-robed souls,<br>Whom in her list she now enrolls,<br>And gird ye for your high emprize<br>By these her thrilling minstrelsies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And wheresoe'er in earth's wide field,<br>Ye lift, for Him, the red-cross shield,<br>Be this your song, your joy and pride -<br>&quot;Our Champion went before and died.&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=421243" data-title="Tuesday In Whitsun-Week de John Keble" data-description="&quot;Lord, in Thy field I work all day,
I read, I teach, I warn, I pray,
And yet these wilful wandering sheep
Within Thy fold I cannot keep.

&quot;I journey, yet no step is won -
Alas! the weary course I run!
Like sailors shipwrecked in their dr..."></div>
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