Here you will find the Poem Monday In Easter Week of poet John Keble
Go up and watch the new-born rill Just trickling from its mossy bed, Streaking the heath-clad hill With a bright emerald thread. Canst thou her bold career foretell, What rocks she shall o'erleap or rend, How far in Ocean's swell Her freshening billows send? Perchance that little brook shall flow The bulwark of some mighty realm, Bear navies to and fro With monarchs at their helm. Or canst thou guess, how far away Some sister nymph, beside her urn Reclining night and day, 'Mid reeds and mountain fern, Nurses her store, with thine to blend When many a moor and glen are past, Then in the wide sea end Their spotless lives at last? E'en so, the course of prayer who knows? It springs in silence where it will, Springs out of sight, and flows At first a lonely rill: But streams shall meet it by and by From thousand sympathetic hearts, Together swelling high Their chant of many parts. Unheard by all but angel ears The good Cornelius knelt alone, Nor dreamed his prayers and tears Would help a world undone. The while upon his terraced roof The loved Apostle to his Lord In silent thought aloof For heavenly vision soared. Far o'er the glowing western main His wistful brow was upward raised, Where, like an angel's train, The burnished water blazed. The saint beside the ocean prayed, This soldier in his chosen bower, Where all his eye surveyed Seemed sacred in that hour. To each unknown his brother's prayer, Yet brethren true in dearest love Were they--and now they share Fraternal joys above. There daily through Christ's open gate They see the Gentile spirits press, Brightening their high estate With dearer happiness. What civic wreath for comrades saved Shone ever with such deathless gleam, Or when did perils braved So sweet to veterans seem?