Analysis of Fourth Sunday After Epiphany
John Keble 1792 (Fairford) – 1866 (Bournemouth)
They know the Almighty's power,
Who, wakened by the rushing midnight shower,
Watch for the fitful breeze
To howl and chafe amid the bending trees,
Watch for the still white gleam
To bathe the landscape in a fiery stream,
Touching the tremulous eye with sense of light
Too rapid and too pure for all but angel sight.
They know the Almighty's love,
Who, when the whirlwinds rock the topmost grove,
Stand in the shade, and hear
The tumult with a deep exulting fear,
How, in their fiercest sway,
Curbed by some power unseen, they die away,
Like a bold steed that owns his rider's arm,
Proud to be checked and soothed by that o'er-mastering chains.
But there are storms within
That heave the struggling heart with wilder din,
And there is power and love
The maniac's rushing frenzy to reprove,
And when he takes his seat,
Clothed and in calmness, at his Savour's feet,
Is not the power as strange, the love as blest,
As when He said, "Be still," and ocean sank to rest?
Woe to the wayward heart,
That gladlier turns to eye the shuddering start
Of Passion in her might,
Than marks the silent growth of grace and light; -
Pleased in the cheerless tomb
To linger, while the morning rays illume
Green lake, and cedar tuft, and spicy glade,
Shaking their dewy tresses now the storm is laid.
The storm is laid--and now
In His meek power He climbs the mountain's brow,
Who bade the waves go sleep,
And lashed the vexed fiends to their yawning deep.
How on a rock they stand,
Who watch His eye, and hold His guiding hand!
Not half so fixed, amid her vassal hills,
Rises the holy pile that Kedron's valley fills.
And wilt thou seek again
Thy howling waste, thy charnel-house and chain,
And with the demons be,
Rather than clasp thine own Deliverer's knee?
Sure 'tis no Heaven-bred awe
That bids thee from His healing touch withdraw;
The world and He are struggling in thine heart,
And in thy reckless mood thou bidd'st thy Lord depart.
He, merciful and mild,
As erst, beholding, loves His wayward child;
When souls of highest birth
Waste their impassioned might on dreams of earth,
He opens Nature's book,
And on His glorious Gospel bids them look,
Till, by such chords as rule the choirs above,
Their lawless cries are tuned to hymns of perfect love.
Scheme | AABBCCDD EXXXFFXX GGEEHHII JJDDXCKK LLMMNNOO XXPPXXJJ QQRRSSEE |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 110110 111010110 110101 1101010101 110111 1101001001 10010011111 110011111101 11011 11011011 100101 0101010101 101101 11110011101 1011111101 11110111101001 111101 11010011101 0111001 01101011 011111 100101111 11010110111 111111010111 110101 1111101001 110001 1101011101 10011 110101011 1101010101 101101010111 011101 01110110101 110111 0101111101 110111 1111011101 1111010101 10010111101 011101 110111101 010101 10111111 1111011 1111110101 01011100011 001101111101 110001 1101011101 111101 1101011111 110101 01110010111 1111110101 110111111011 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 2,346 |
Words | 406 |
Sentences | 11 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8 |
Lines Amount | 56 |
Letters per line (avg) | 31 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 250 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 58 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:04 min read
- 92 Views
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"Fourth Sunday After Epiphany" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 16 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/23577/fourth-sunday-after-epiphany>.
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