John Keble

And taught by thee the Church prolongs
Her hymns of high thanksgiving still.

And taught by thee the Church prolongs
Her hymns of high thanksgiving still.

Sweet is the infant's waking smile,
And sweet the old man's rest--
But middle age by no read more

Sweet is the infant's waking smile,
And sweet the old man's rest--
But middle age by no fond wile,
No soothing calm is blest.

In silence, . . .
Steals on soft-handed Charity,
Tempering her gifts, that seem so free,
read more

In silence, . . .
Steals on soft-handed Charity,
Tempering her gifts, that seem so free,
By time and place,
Till not a woe the bleak world see,
But finds her grace.

Soft as Memnon's harp at morning,
To the inward ear devout,
Touched by light, with heavenly warning
read more

Soft as Memnon's harp at morning,
To the inward ear devout,
Touched by light, with heavenly warning
Your transporting chords ring out.
Every leaf in every nook,
Every wave in every brook,
Chanting with a solemn voice
Minds us of our better choice.

God hath sworn to lift on high
Who sinks himself by true humility.

God hath sworn to lift on high
Who sinks himself by true humility.