Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By John Keble (1792–1866)Penance
| HOW welcome, in the sweet still hour, | |
| Falls on the weary heart, | |
| Listening apart, | |
| Each rustling note from breeze and bower; | |
| The mimic rain ’mid poplar leaves, | 5 |
| The mist-drops from the o’erloaded eaves, | |
| Sighs that the herd half-dreaming heaves, | |
| Or owlet chanting his dim part; | |
| Or trickling of imprison’d rill | |
| Heard faintly down some pastoral hill, | 10 |
| His pledge, who rules the froward will | |
| With more than kingly power, with more than wizard art. | |
| But never mourner’s ear so keen | |
| Watch’d for the soothing sounds | |
| That walk their rounds | 15 |
| Upon the moonlight air serene, | |
| As the bright sentinels on high | |
| Stoop to receive each contrite sigh | |
| When the hot world hath hurried by, | |
| And souls have time to feel their wounds. | 20 |
| Nor ever tenderest bosom beat | |
| So truly to the noiseless feet | |
| Of shadows that from light clouds fleet, | |
| Where Ocean gently rocks within his summer bounds, | |
| As saints around the Glory-Throne | 25 |
| To each faint sigh respond | |
| And yearning fond | |
| Of penitents that inly moan. | |