John Keble

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

But when eve's silent footfall steals
Along the eastern sky,
And one by one to earth reveals
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But when eve's silent footfall steals
Along the eastern sky,
And one by one to earth reveals
Those purer fires on high.

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

Pride of the dewy morning,
The swain's experienced eye
From thee takes timely warning.
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Pride of the dewy morning,
The swain's experienced eye
From thee takes timely warning.
Nor trusts the gorgeous sky.
- John Keble,

Look in, and see Christ's chosen saint
In triumph wear his Christ-like chain;
No fear lest he read more

Look in, and see Christ's chosen saint
In triumph wear his Christ-like chain;
No fear lest he should swerve or faint;
"His life is Christ, his death is gain."