John Keble (1792–1866): British churchman and poet. The library holds 68 quotes by John Keble, drawn from The Christian Year. Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity, Burial of the Dead, Morning and other works. The 60 below are the most quoted; search the library in the maker for the rest.
Why should we faint and fear to live alone,
Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die?
Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own,
Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh.
As having nothing, and yet possessing all things,—2 COR. vi. 10. Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of heaven in each we see:
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.
The loveliest flowers the closest cling to earth,
And they first feel the sun: so violets blue;
So the soft star-like primrose—drenched in dew—The happiest of Spring’s happy, fragrant birth.
The world’s a room of sickness, where each heart
Knows its own anguish and unrest!
The truest wisdom there, and noblest art,
Is his who skills of comfort best.
How on a rock they stand,
Who watch His eye, and hold His guiding hand!
Not half so fixed amid her vassal hills,
Rises the holy pile that Kedron’s valley fills.
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.
The clouds that wrap the setting sun… Why, as we watch their floating wreath,
Seem they the breath of life to breathe?
To Fancy’s eye their motions prove
They mantle round the sun for love.
What? wearied out with half a life?
Scared with this smooth unbloody strife?
Think where thy coward hopes had flown
Had Heaven held out the martyr’s crown.
Thou art as much His care as if beside
Nor man nor angel lived in heaven or earth;
Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide,
To light up worlds, or wake an insect’s mirth.
There are in this loud stunning tide
Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
Of th’ everlasting chime;
Who carry music in their heart,
Through dusty lane and wrangling mart,
Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.
The champion true
Loves victory more when, dim in view,
He sees her glories gild afar
The dusky edge of stubborn war,
Than if th’ untrodden bloodless field
The harvest of her laurels yield.
We know not exactly how low the least degree of obedience is, which will bring a man to heaven; but this we are quite sure of, that he who aims no higher will be sure to fall short even of that, and that he who goes farthest beyond it will be most blessed.
Sweet is the smile of home; the mutual look
When hearts are of each other sure;
Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook,
The haunt of all affections pure.
Thou, too curious ear, that fain
Wouldst thread the maze of Harmony,
Content thee with one simple strain,… Till thou art duly trained, and taught
The concord sweet of Love divine.
There’s a sweeter flower than e’er
Blush’d on the rosy spray,
A brighter star, a richer bloom,
Than e’er did western heaven illume
At close of summer day—’Tis Love, the last best gift of Heaven.
O Lord my God, do Thou Thy holy will,—I will lie still.
I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm,
And break the charm
Which lulls me, clinging to my Father’s breast,
In perfect rest.