The Christian year thoughts in verse for the Sundays and holidays throughout the year ... hundredth edition [by John Keble] |
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Second Sunday after Christmas.
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 | The Christian year |  |
37
Second Sunday after Christmas.
When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their
tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them, I the God of
Israel will not forsake them.
Isaiah xli. 17.
And wilt Thou hear the fever'd heart
To Thee in silence cry?
And as th' inconstant wildfires dart
Out of the restless eye,
Wilt thou forgive the wayward thought,
By kindly woes yet half untaught
A Saviour's right, so dearly bought,
That Hope should never die?
To Thee in silence cry?
And as th' inconstant wildfires dart
Out of the restless eye,
Wilt thou forgive the wayward thought,
By kindly woes yet half untaught
A Saviour's right, so dearly bought,
That Hope should never die?
Thou wilt: for many a languid prayer
Has reach'd Thee from the wild,
Since the lorn mother, wandering there,
Cast down her fainting child ,
Then stole apart to weep and die,
Nor knew an angel form was nigh,
To shew soft waters gushing by
And dewy shadows mild.
Has reach'd Thee from the wild,
Since the lorn mother, wandering there,
Cast down her fainting child ,
Then stole apart to weep and die,
Nor knew an angel form was nigh,
To shew soft waters gushing by
And dewy shadows mild.
Thou wilt—for thou art Israel's God,
And Thine unwearied arm
Is ready yet with Moses' rod,
The hidden rill to charm
Out of the dry unfathom'd deep
Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep,
Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap
Their waves in rude alarm.
And Thine unwearied arm
Is ready yet with Moses' rod,
The hidden rill to charm
38
Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep,
Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap
Their waves in rude alarm.
These moments of wild wrath are Thine—
Thine too the drearier hour
When o'er the horizon's silent line
Fond hopeless fancies cower,
And on the traveller's listless way
Rises and sets th' unchanging day,
No cloud in heaven to slake its ray,
On earth no sheltering bower.
Thine too the drearier hour
When o'er the horizon's silent line
Fond hopeless fancies cower,
And on the traveller's listless way
Rises and sets th' unchanging day,
No cloud in heaven to slake its ray,
On earth no sheltering bower.
Thou wilt be there, and not forsake,
To turn the bitter pool
Into a bright and breezy lake,
The throbbing brow to cool:
Till left awhile with Thee alone
The wilful heart be fain to own
That He, by whom our bright hours shone,
Our darkness best may rule.
To turn the bitter pool
Into a bright and breezy lake,
The throbbing brow to cool:
Till left awhile with Thee alone
The wilful heart be fain to own
That He, by whom our bright hours shone,
Our darkness best may rule.
The scent of water far away
Upon the breeze is flung:
The desert pelican to-day
Securely leaves her young,
Reproving thankless man, who fears
To journey on a few lone years,
Where on the sand Thy step appears,
Thy crown in sight is hung.
Upon the breeze is flung:
The desert pelican to-day
Securely leaves her young,
Reproving thankless man, who fears
To journey on a few lone years,
Where on the sand Thy step appears,
Thy crown in sight is hung.
39
Thou, who didst sit on Jacob's well
The weary hour of noon ,
The languid pulses Thou canst tell,
The nerveless spirit tune.
Thou from Whose Cross in anguish burst
The cry that own'd Thy dying thirst ,
To Thee we turn, our Last and First,
Our Sun and soothing Moon.
The weary hour of noon ,
The languid pulses Thou canst tell,
The nerveless spirit tune.
Thou from Whose Cross in anguish burst
The cry that own'd Thy dying thirst ,
To Thee we turn, our Last and First,
Our Sun and soothing Moon.
From darkness, here, and dreariness
We ask not full repose,
Only be Thou at hand, to bless
Our trial hour of woes.
Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid
By the clear rill and palmy shade?
And see we not, up earth's dark glade,
The gate of Heaven unclose?
We ask not full repose,
Only be Thou at hand, to bless
Our trial hour of woes.
Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid
By the clear rill and palmy shade?
And see we not, up earth's dark glade,
The gate of Heaven unclose?
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