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. Twenty-First Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
15. Monday In Whitsun-Week 1/1/2004
16. Holy Baptism 1/1/2004
17. Fourth Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
18. Matrimony 1/1/2004
19. Holy Communion 1/1/2004
20. Fourth Sunday After Epiphany 1/1/2004
21. Second Sunday In Advent 1/1/2004
22. St. Matthew 1/1/2004
23. Monday In Easter Week 1/1/2004
24. St. Stephens Day 1/1/2004
25. St. Philip And St. James 1/1/2004
26. Twenty-Fifth Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
27. King Charles The Martyr 1/3/2003
28. Third Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
29. Fourteenth Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
30. Fourth Sunday After Easter 1/1/2004
31. Monday Before Easter 1/1/2004
32. Ninth Sunday After Trinity 1/1/2004
33. St. Thomas' Day 1/1/2004
34. Sunday After Ascension 1/1/2004
35. The Accession 1/1/2004
36. Sunday Next Before Advent 1/1/2004
37. The Epiphany 1/1/2004
38. Third Sunday In Advent 1/1/2004
39. Fourth Sunday In Advent 1/1/2004
40. Tuesday In Easter Week 1/1/2004
Best Poem of John Keble

Blest Are The Pure In Heart

Blest are the pure in heart,
For they shall see our God;
The secret of the Lord is theirs;
Their soul is Christ’s abode.

The Lord, Who left the heavens
Our life and peace to bring,
To dwell in lowliness with men
Their Pattern and their King.

Still to the lowly soul
He doth Himself impart;
And for His dwelling and His throne
Chooseth the pure in heart.

Lord, we Thy presence seek;
May ours this blessing be;
Give us a pure and lowly heart,
A temple meet for Thee.

Read the full of Blest Are The Pure In Heart

Churching Of Women

Is there, in bowers of endless spring,
One known from all the seraph band
By softer voice, by smile and wing
More exquisitely bland!
Here let him speed: to-day this hallowed air
Is fragrant with a mother's first and fondest prayer.

Only let Heaven her fire impart,
No richer incense breathes on earth:

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