|
Главная • Биографии • Стихи по темам • Случайное стихотворение • Переводчики • Ссылки • Антологии Рейтинг поэтов • Рейтинг стихотворений |
|
The Circumcision of Christ In whom also ye are circumcised with the circumcision made without hands. Coloss. ii. 11. The year begins with Thee, And Thou beginn’st with woe, To let the world of sinners see That blood for sin must flow. Thine infant cries, O Lord, Thy tears upon the breast, Are not enough—the legal sword Must do its stern behest. Like sacrificial wine Poured on a victim’s head Are those few precious drops of Thine, Now first to offering led. They are the pledge and seal Of Christ’s unswerving faith Given to His Sire, our souls to heal, Although it cost His death. They to His Church of old, To each true Jewish heart, In Gospel graces manifold Communion blest impart. Now of Thy love we deem As of an ocean vast, Mounting in tides against the stream Of ages gone and past. Both theirs and ours Thou art, As we and they are Thine; Kings, Prophets, Patriarchs—all have part Along the sacred line. By blood and water too God’s mark is set on Thee, That in Thee every faithful view Both covenants might see. O bond of union, dear And strong as is Thy grace! Saints, parted by a thousand year, May thus in heart embrace. Is there a mourner true, Who fallen on faithless days, Sighs for the heart-consoling view Of those Heaven deigned to praise? In spirit may’st thou meet With faithful Abraham here, Whom soon in Eden thou shalt greet A nursing Father dear. Would’st thou a poet be? And would thy dull heart fain Borrow of Israel’s minstrelsy One high enraptured strain? Come here thy soul to tune, Here set thy feeble chant, Here, if at all beneath the moon, Is holy David’s haunt. Art thou a child of tears, Cradled in care and woe? And seems it hard, thy vernal years Few vernal joys can show? And fall the sounds of mirth Sad on thy lonely heart, From all the hopes and charms of earth Untimely called to part? Look here, and hold thy peace: The Giver of all good E’en from the womb takes no release From suffering, tears, and blood. If thou would’st reap in love, First sow in holy fear: So life a winter’s morn may prove To a bright endless year. John Keble's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1217 |
||
Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |