John Keble ( 10 of 13 )
Feast of John Keble, Priest, Poet, Tractarian, 1866 The deaf may hear the Saviour's voice, The fettered tongue its chains read more
Feast of John Keble, Priest, Poet, Tractarian, 1866 The deaf may hear the Saviour's voice, The fettered tongue its chains may break; But the deaf heart, the dumb by choice, The laggard soul that will not wake, The guilt that scorns to be forgiven -- These baffle e'en the spells of heaven.
EPIPHANY If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still of countless read more
EPIPHANY If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still of countless price God will provide for sacrifice. The trivial round, the common task Will furnish all we ought to ask; Room to deny ourselves -- a road To bring us daily nearer God.
Once you make up your mind never to stand waiting and hesitating when your conscience tells you what you ought read more
Once you make up your mind never to stand waiting and hesitating when your conscience tells you what you ought to do, and you have got the key to every blessing that a sinner can reasonably hope for.
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.
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.
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."
Feast of John Keble, Priest, Poet, Tractarian, 1866 Sun of my soul, Thou Savior dear, It is not night read more
Feast of John Keble, Priest, Poet, Tractarian, 1866 Sun of my soul, Thou Savior dear, It is not night if Thou be near; O may no earth-born cloud arise To hide Thee from thy servant's eyes.
Sprinkled along the waste of years
Full many a soft green isle appears:
Pause where we may read more
Sprinkled along the waste of years
Full many a soft green isle appears:
Pause where we may upon the desert road,
Some shelter is in sight, some sacred safe abode.
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.
