Analysis of Seventh Sunday After Trinity
John Keble 1792 (Fairford) – 1866 (Bournemouth)
Go not away, thou weary soul:
Heaven has in store a precious dole
Here on Bethsaida's cold and darksome height,
Where over rocks and sands arise
Proud Sirion in the northern skies,
And Tabor's lonely peak, 'twixt thee and noonday light.
And far below, Gennesaret's main
Spreads many a mile of liquid plain,
(Though all seem gathered in one eager bound,)
Then narrowing cleaves you palmy lea,
Towards that deep sulphureous sea,
Where five proud cities lie, by one dire sentence drowned.
Landscape of fear! yet, weary heart,
Thou need'st not in thy gloom depart,
Nor fainting turn to seek thy distant home:
Sweetly thy sickening throbs are eyed
By the kind Saviour at thy side;
For healing and for balm e'en now thine hour is come.
No fiery wing is seen to glide,
No cates ambrosial are supplied,
But one poor fisher's rude and scanty store
Is all He asks (and more than needs)
Who men and angels daily feeds,
And stills the wailing sea-bird on the hungry shore.
The feast is o'er, the guests are gone,
And over all that upland lone
The breeze of eve sweeps wildly as of old -
But far unlike the former dreams,
The heart's sweet moonlight softly gleams
Upon life's varied view, so joyless erst and cold.
As mountain travellers in the night,
When heaven by fits is dark and bright,
Pause listening on the silent heath, and hear
Nor trampling hoof nor tinkling bell,
Then bolder scale the rugged fell,
Conscious the more of One, ne'er seen, yet ever near:
So when the tones of rapture gay
On the lorn ear, die quite away,
The lonely world seems lifted nearer heaven;
Seen daily, yet unmarked before,
Earth's common paths are strewn all o'er
With flowers of pensive hope, the wreath of man forgiven.
The low sweet tones of Nature's lyre
No more on listless ears expire,
Nor vainly smiles along the shady way
The primrose in her vernal nest,
Nor unlamented sink to rest
Sweet roses one by one, nor autumn leaves decay.
There's not a star the heaven can show,
There's not a cottage-hearth below,
But feeds with solace kind the willing soul -
Men love us, or they need our love;
Freely they own, or heedless prove
The curse of lawless hearts, the joy of self-control.
Then rouse thee from desponding sleep,
Nor by the wayside lingering weep,
Nor fear to seek Him farther in the wild,
Whose love can turn earth's worst and least
Into a conqueror's royal feast:
Thou wilt not be untrue, thou shalt not be beguiled.
Scheme | AABCCB DDEFFE GGXHHX HHIJJI XXKLLK BBXMMX NNOIXO PPNQQN RRAXXA SSTUUT |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Etheree (22%) |
Metre | 11011101 101010101 1111011 11010101 1100101 01010111011 010111 110011101 1111001101 11001111 011111 111101111101 1111101 111101101 1101111101 101100111 1011111 11001111111011 110011111 11010101 1111010101 11110111 11010101 010101110101 011100111 01011101 0111110111 11010101 0111101 01110111101 110100001 110111101 11001010101 110111001 11010101 100111111101 11011101 10111101 01011101010 11010101 110111110 11011010111010 01111101 11110101 1101010101 0100101 11111 110111110101 110101011 11010101 1111010101 111111101 1011111 011101011101 111111 11011001 1111110001 11111101 010100101 111101111101 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 2,431 |
Words | 434 |
Sentences | 11 |
Stanzas | 10 |
Stanza Lengths | 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6 |
Lines Amount | 60 |
Letters per line (avg) | 31 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 189 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 43 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:15 min read
- 101 Views
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"Seventh Sunday After Trinity" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/23605/seventh-sunday-after-trinity>.
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