Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By The Christian Year (1827). V. There is a book, who runs may readJohn Keble (17921866)
T
Which heavenly truth imparts,
And all the lore its scholars need,
Pure eyes and Christian hearts.
Within us and around,
Are pages in that book, to show
How God Himself is found.
Is like the Maker’s love,
Wherewith encompassed, great and small
In peace and order move.
A wondrous race they run,
But all their radiance, all their glow,
Each borrows of its Sun.
That crowns His holy hill;
The saints, like stars, around His seat
Perform their courses still.
What are the saints on earth?
Like trees they stand whom God has given,
Our Eden’s happy birth.
Hope their unfading flower,
Fair deeds of charity their fruit,
The glory of their bower.
It steals in silence down;
But where it lights, the favoured place
By richest fruits is known.
With its ten thousand tongues
The everlasting sea proclaims,
Echoing angelic songs.
Thy boundless power display;
But in the gentle breeze we find
Thy Spirit’s viewless way.
Forbids us to descry
The mystic heaven and earth within,
Plain as the sea and sky.
And love this sight so fair,
Give me a heart to find out Thee,
And read Thee everywhere.