Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By The Christian Year (1827). I. Morning (“Hues of the rich”)John Keble (1792–1866)
H
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible
Around his path are taught to swell;—
That dancest forth at opening day,
And brushing by with joyous wing,
Wakenest each little leaf to sing;—
By which deep grove and tangled stream
Pay, for soft rains in season given,
Their tribute to the genial heaven;—
Upon our thankless, joyless sight;
Who day by day to sin awake,
Seldom of Heaven and you partake?
Hearts that with rising morn arise!
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new!
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restored to life, and power, and thought.
Hover around us while we pray;
New perils past, new sins forgiven,
New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.
Be set to hallow all we find,
New treasures still, of countless price,
God will provide for sacrifice.
As more of Heaven in each we see:
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.
Untired we ask, and ask again,
Ever, in its melodious store,
Finding a spell unheard before;
When they have sworn, and stedfast mean,
Counting the cost, in all t’ espy
Their God, in all themselves deny.
What lights would all around us rise!
How would our hearts with wisdom talk
Along Life’s dullest, dreariest walk!
Our neighbour and our work farewell,
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high
For sinful man beneath the sky:
Would furnish all we ought to ask
Room to deny ourselves; a road
To bring us daily nearer God.
Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease,
As Heaven shall bid them, come and go:—
The secret this of Rest below.
Fit us for perfect Rest above;
And help us, this and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.