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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Fourth Sunday After Epiphany</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They know the Almighty's power,<br> Who, wakened by the rushing midnight shower,<br> Watch for the fitful breeze<br> To howl and chafe amid the bending trees,<br> Watch for the still white gleam<br> To bathe the landscape in a fiery stream,<br> Touching the tremulous eye with sense of light<br>Too rapid and too pure for all but angel sight.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> They know the Almighty's love,<br> Who, when the whirlwinds rock the topmost grove,<br> Stand in the shade, and hear<br> The tumult with a deep exulting fear,<br> How, in their fiercest sway,<br> Curbed by some power unseen, they die away,<br> Like a bold steed that owns his rider's arm,<br>Proud to be checked and soothed by that o'er-mastering chains.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> But there are storms within<br> That heave the struggling heart with wilder din,<br> And there is power and love<br> The maniac's rushing frenzy to reprove,<br> And when he takes his seat,<br> Clothed and in calmness, at his Savour's feet,<br> Is not the power as strange, the love as blest,<br>As when He said, "Be still," and ocean sank to rest?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Woe to the wayward heart,<br> That gladlier turns to eye the shuddering start<br> Of Passion in her might,<br> Than marks the silent growth of grace and light; -<br> Pleased in the cheerless tomb<br> To linger, while the morning rays illume<br> Green lake, and cedar tuft, and spicy glade,<br>Shaking their dewy tresses now the storm is laid.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> The storm is laid--and now<br> In His meek power He climbs the mountain's brow,<br> Who bade the waves go sleep,<br> And lashed the vexed fiends to their yawning deep.<br> How on a rock they stand,<br> Who watch His eye, and hold His guiding hand!<br> Not half so fixed, amid her vassal hills,<br>Rises the holy pile that Kedron's valley fills.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> And wilt thou seek again<br> Thy howling waste, thy charnel-house and chain,<br> And with the demons be,<br> Rather than clasp thine own Deliverer's knee?<br> Sure 'tis no Heaven-bred awe<br> That bids thee from His healing touch withdraw;<br> The world and He are struggling in thine heart,<br>And in thy reckless mood thou bidd'st thy Lord depart.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=421173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> He, merciful and mild,<br> As erst, beholding, loves His wayward child;<br> When souls of highest birth<br> Waste their impassioned might on dreams of earth,<br> He opens Nature's book,<br> And on His glorious Gospel bids them look,<br> Till, by such chords as rule the choirs above,<br>Their lawless cries are tuned to hymns of perfect love.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Keble">John Keble</a></strong></div>