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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=545930" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Autumn: Friday Morning</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the day when prejudice and guilt<br>The blood of innocence and virtue spilt!<br>'Twas in those orient Syrian lands afar,<br>O'er whose high mountains towers the morning star;<br>Lands now to tyranny and treachery given,<br>But then the special care and charge of heaven;<br>Lands, now by ignorance and darkness trod,<br>Then shining brightest in the light of God!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Holiest and best of men! 'twas there thou walkedst,<br>There with thy faithful, privileged followers talkedst;<br>Privileged indeed, listening to truth divine<br>Breath'd from a heart, and taught by lips, like thine!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He that from all life's strange vicissitude<br>Drew forth the living, hidden soul of good;<br>And in the strength of wisdom, and the might<br>Of peaceful virtue fought, and won the fight:<br>His armour righteousness-his conquering sword<br>A spiritual weapon-his prophetic word<br>The arms of truth,-his banners from above-<br>His conquests meekness, and his warfare love.<br>He stands a pillar 'midst his children; grace<br>And majesty and truth illume his face;<br>He bows his head and dies! The very rock<br>Is rent, and Zion trembles at the shock!<br>But tho' he dies, he triumphs-and in vain<br>Would unbelief oppose his conquering reign;<br>A reign o'erspreading nature-gathering in<br>Kindreds and nations from the tents of sin<br>To virtue's temple. O how calm, how great,<br>A death like this!-Come, then, and venerate<br>Your Saviour and your King. All hail! All hail!<br>The songs of gratitude shall fill the vale,<br>And echo from the mountains, and shall rise<br>In one consenting tribute to the skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Sow, then, thy seed-that seed will spring, and give<br>Rich fruits and fairest flowers, that will survive<br>All chance, all change: and tho' the night may come,<br>And tho' the deeper darkness of the tomb,<br>A sun more bright than ours shall bid them grow,<br>And on the very grave hope's buds will blow,<br>And blow like those sweet flowers that, pluck'd, ne'er lose<br>Their freshness, nor their fragrance, nor their hues.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Now the day calls us with its eloquent ray;<br>O let us toil unwearied while 'tis day,<br>For the night cometh, all enveloping<br>But virtue, that on spiritual soaring wing<br>Flies to its rest! 'Tis but a pilgrim here,<br>Shaping its course towards a better sphere,<br>Where its own mansion is; yet, in its flight,<br>Dropping from its pinions healing and delight;<br>And from the darkest shades, like some fair star<br>Of midnight, scattering beams of light afar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Bowring">John Bowring</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=545930" data-title="Autumn: Friday Morning de John Bowring" data-description="This is the day when prejudice and guilt
The blood of innocence and virtue spilt!
'Twas in those orient Syrian lands afar,
O'er whose high mountains towers the morning star;
Lands now to tyranny and treachery given,
But then the special care and c..."></div>
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