John Keble

(25 April 1792 – 29 March 1866 / Fairford, Gloucestershire)

John Keble Poems

1. The Restoration Of The Royal Family 1/1/2004
2. Sixth Sunday After Epiphany 1/1/2004
3. Trinity Sunday 1/1/2004
4. The Conversion Of St. Paul 1/1/2004
5. Second Sunday After Christmas 1/1/2004
6. St. Bartholomew 1/1/2004
7. St. John Baptist's Day 1/1/2004
8. St. Luke 1/1/2004
9. Second Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
10. Twenty-Third Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
11. Tuesday In Whitsun-Week 1/1/2004
12. First Sunday In Lent 1/1/2004
13. Twelfth Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
14. Holy Baptism 1/1/2004
15. Fourth Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
16. Matrimony 1/1/2004
17. Fourth Sunday After Epiphany 1/1/2004
18. Second Sunday In Advent 1/1/2004
19. St. Matthew 1/1/2004
20. Monday In Easter Week 1/1/2004
21. Monday In Whitsun-Week 1/1/2004
22. St. Stephens Day 1/1/2004
23. St. Philip And St. James 1/1/2004
24. Twenty-Fifth Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
25. King Charles The Martyr 1/3/2003
26. Third Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
27. Fourteenth Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
28. Fourth Sunday After Easter 1/1/2004
29. Holy Communion 1/1/2004
30. Monday Before Easter 1/1/2004
31. Ninth Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
32. St. Thomas' Day 1/1/2004
33. Sunday After Ascension 1/1/2004
34. The Epiphany 1/1/2004
35. The Accession 1/1/2004
36. Third Sunday In Advent 1/1/2004
37. Fourth Sunday In Advent 1/1/2004
38. Tuesday In Easter Week 1/1/2004
39. St. Simon And St. Jude 1/1/2004
40. Sunday Next Before Advent 1/1/2004
Best Poem of John Keble

Morning

Hues of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible
Around his path are taught to swell; -

Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay,
That dancest forth at opening day,
And brushing by with joyous wing,
Wakenest each little leaf to sing; -

Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
By which deep grove and tangled stream
Pay, for soft rains in season given,
Their tribute to the genial heaven; -

Why waste your treasures of delight
Upon our thankless, joyless sight;
Who day by day to sin awake,
Seldom of ...

Read the full of Morning

Burial

And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her, and said unto
her, Weep not. And He came and touched the bier; and they that
bare him stood still. And He said, Young man, I say unto thee,
Arise.--St. Luke vii. 13, 14.

Who says, the wan autumnal soon
Beams with too faint a smile
To light up nature's face again,
And, though the year be on this wane,

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