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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421250" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Wednesday Before Easter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Lord my God, do thou Thy holy will -<br> I will lie still -<br>I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm,<br> And break the charm<br>Which lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast,<br> In perfect rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wild fancy, peace! thou must not me beguile<br> With thy false smile:<br>I know thy flatteries and thy cheating ways;<br> Be silent, Praise,<br>Blind guide with siren voice, and blinding all<br> That hear thy call.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, Self-devotion, high and pure,<br>Thoughts that in thankfulness endure,<br>Though dearest hopes are faithless found,<br>And dearest hearts are bursting round.<br>Come, Resignation, spirit meek,<br>And let me kiss thy placid cheek,<br>And read in thy pale eye serene<br>Their blessing, who by faith can wean<br>Their hearts from sense, and learn to love<br>God only, and the joys above.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They say, who know the life divine,<br>And upward gaze with eagle eyne,<br>That by each golden crown on high,<br>Rich with celestial jewelry,<br>Which for our Lord's redeemed is set,<br>There hangs a radiant coronet,<br>All gemmed with pure and living light,<br>Too dazzling for a sinner's sight,<br>Prepared for virgin souls, and them<br>Who seek the martyr's diadem.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor deem, who to that bliss aspire,<br>Must win their way through blood and fire.<br>The writhings of a wounded heart<br>Are fiercer than a foeman's dart.<br>Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining,<br>In Desolation unrepining,<br>Without a hope on earth to find<br>A mirror in an answering mind,<br>Meek souls there are, who little dream<br>Their daily strife an Angel's theme,<br>Or that the rod they take so calm<br>Shall prove in Heaven a martyr's palm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there are souls that seem to dwell<br>Above this earth--so rich a spell<br>Floats round their steps, where'er they move,<br>From hopes fulfilled and mutual love.<br>Such, if on high their thoughts are set,<br>Nor in the stream the source forget,<br>If prompt to quit the bliss they know,<br>Following the Lamb where'er He go,<br>By purest pleasures unbeguiled<br>To idolise or wife or child;<br>Such wedded souls our God shall own<br>For faultless virgins round His throne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus everywhere we find our suffering God,<br> And where He trod<br>May set our steps: the Cross on Calvary<br> Uplifted high<br>Beams on the martyr host, a beacon light<br> In open fight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To the still wrestlings of the lonely heart<br> He doth impart<br>The virtue of his midnight agony,<br> When none was nigh,<br>Save God and one good angel, to assuage<br> The tempest's rage.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find<br> All to thy mind,<br>Think, who did once from Heaven to Hell descend,<br> Thee to befriend:<br>So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call,<br> Thy best, thine all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;O Father! not My will, but Thine be done&quot; -<br> So spake the Son.<br>Be this our charm, mellowing Earth's ruder noise<br> Of griefs and joys:<br>That we may cling for ever to Thy breast<br> In perfect rest!</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=421250" data-title="Wednesday Before Easter de John Keble" data-description="O Lord my God, do thou Thy holy will -
 I will lie still -
I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm,
 And break the charm
Which lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast,
 In perfect rest.

Wild fancy, peace! thou must not me beguile
 With thy fal..."></div>
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