The Christian Year.

by John Keble.

Edited by Henry Morley.

INTRODUCTION.

JOHN KEBLE, two years older than his friend Dr. Arnold of Rugby, three years older than Thomas Carlyle, and nine years older than John Henry Newman, was born in 1792, at Fairford in Gloucestershire. He was born in his father's parsonage, and educated at home by his father till he went to college. His father then entered him at his own college at Oxford, Corpus Christi. Thoroughly trained, Keble obtained high reputation at his University for character and scholarship, and became a Fellow of Oriel. After some years he gave up work in the University, though he could not divest himself of a large influence there for good, returned home to his old father, who required help in his ministry, and undertook for his the duty of two little curacies. The father lived on to the age of ninety. John Keble's love for G.o.d and his devotion to the Church had often been expressed in verse. On days which the Church specially celebrated, he had from time to time written short poems to utter from the heart his own devout sense of their spiritual use and meaning. As the number of these poems increased, the desire rose to follow in like manner the while course of the Christian Year as it was marked for the people by the sequence of church services, which had been arranged to bring in due order before the minds of Christian worshippers all the foundations of their faith, and all the elements of a religious life. A book of poems, breathing faith and worship at all points, and in all att.i.tudes of heavenward contemplation, within the circle of the Christian Year, would, he hoped, restore in many minds to many a benumbed form life and energy.

In 1825, while the poems of the Christian Year were gradually being shaped into a single work, a brother became able to relieve John Keble in that pious care for which his father had drawn him away from a great University career, and he then went to a curacy at Hursley, four or five miles from Winchester.

In 1827-when its author's age was thirty-five-"The Christian Year" was published. Like George Herbert, whose equal he was in piety though not in power, Keble was joined to the Church in fullest sympathy with all its ordinances, and desired to quicken worship by putting into each part of the ritual a life that might pa.s.s into and raise the life of man. The spirit of true religion, with a power beyond that of any earthly feuds and controversies, binds together those in whom it really lives. Setting aside all smaller questions of the relative value of different earthly means to the attainment of a life hidden with Christ in G.o.d, Christians of all forms who are one in spirit have found help from "John Keble's Christian Year," and think of its guileless author with kindly affection.

Within five-and-twenty years of its publication, a hundred thousand copies had been sold. The book is still diffused so widely, in editions of all forms, that it may yet go on, until the circle of the years shall be no more, living and making live.

Four years after "The Christian Year" appeared, Keble was appointed (in 1831) to the usual five years' tenure of the Poetry Professorship at Oxford. Two years after he had been appointed Poetry Professor, he preached the a.s.size Sermon, and took for his theme "National Apostasy."

John Henry Newman, who had obtained his Fellowship at Oriel some years before the publication of "The Christian Year," and was twenty-six years old when it appeared, received from it a strong impulse towards the endeavour to revive the spirit of the Church by restoring life and soul to all her ordinances, and even to the minutest detail of her ritual.

The deep respect felt for the author of "The Christian Year" gave power to the sermon of 1833 upon National Apostasy, and made it the starting-point of the Oxford movement known as Tractarian, from the issue of tracts through which its promoters sought to stir life in the clergy and the people; known also as Puseyite because it received help at the end of the year 1833 from Dr. Pusey, who was of like age with J. H.

Newman, and then Regius Professor of Hebrew. There was a danger, which some then foresaw, in the nature of this endeavour to put life into the Church; but we all now recognise the purity of Christian zeal that prompted the attempt to make dead forms of ceremonial glow again with spiritual fire, and serve as aids to the recovery of light and warmth in our devotions.

It was in 1833 that Keble, by one earnest sermon, with a pure life at the back of it, and this book that had prepared the way, gave the direct impulse to an Oxford movement for the reformation of the Church. The movement then began. But Keble went back to his curacy at Hursley. Two years afterwards the curate became vicar, and then Keble married. His after-life continued innocent and happy. He and his wife died within two months of each other, in the came year, 1866. He had taken part with his friends at Oxford by writing five of their Tracts, publishing a few sermons that laboured towards the same end, and editing a "Library of the Fathers." In 1847 he produced another volume of poems, "Lyra Innocentium," which a.s.sociated doctrines of the Church with the lives of children, whom he loved, though his own marriage was childless.

The power of Keble's verse lies in its truth. A faithful and pure nature, strong in home affections, full of love and reverence for all that is of heaven in our earthly lot, strives for the full consecration of man's life with love and faith. There is no rare gift of genius.

Keble is not in subtlety of thought or of expression another George Herbert, or another Henry Vaughan. But his voice is not the less in unison with theirs, for every note is true, and wins us by its purity.

His also are melodies of the everlasting chime.

"And be ye sure that Love can bless E'en in this crowded loneliness, Where ever moving myriads seem to say, Go-thou art nought to us, nor we to thee-away!"

"There are in this loud stunning tide Of human care and crime, With whom the melodies abide Of the everlasting chime; Who carry music in their heart Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, Plying their daily task with busier feet, Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."

With a peal, then, of such music let us ring in the New Year for our Library; and for our lives.

_January_ 1, 1887.

H. M.

DEDICATION.

WHEN in my silent solitary walk, I sought a strain not all unworthy Thee, My heart, still ringing with wild worldly talk, Gave forth no note of holier minstrelsy.

Prayer is the secret, to myself I said, Strong supplication must call down the charm, And thus with untuned heart I feebly prayed, Knocking at Heaven's gate with earth-palsied arm.

Fountain of Harmony! Thou Spirit blest, By whom the troubled waves of earthly sound Are gathered into order, such as best Some high-souled bard in his enchanted round

May compa.s.s, Power divine! Oh, spread Thy wing, Thy dovelike wing that makes confusion fly, Over my dark, void spirit, summoning New worlds of music, strains that may not die.

Oh, happiest who before thine altar wait, With pure hands ever holding up on high The guiding Star of all who seek Thy gate, The undying lamp of heavenly Poesy.

Too weak, too wavering, for such holy task Is my frail arm, O Lord; but I would fain Track to its source the brightness, I would bask In the clear ray that makes Thy pathway plain.

I dare not hope with David's harp to chase The evil spirit from the troubled breast; Enough for me if I can find such grace To listen to the strain, and be at rest.

THE CHRISTIAN YEAR.

Morning.

His compa.s.sions fail not. They are new every morning.

_Lament_. iii. 22, 23.

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 Heaven and you partake?

Oh, timely happy, timely wise, Hearts that with rising morn arise!

Eyes that the beam celestial view, Which evermore makes all things new!

New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove; Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought.

New mercies, each returning day, Hover around us while we pray; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of G.o.d, new hopes of Heaven.

If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still, of countless price, G.o.d will provide for sacrifice.

Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be, As more of Heaven in each we see: Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care.

As for some dear familiar strain Untired we ask, and ask again, Ever, in its melodious store, Finding a spell unheard before;

Such is the bliss of souls serene, When they have sworn, and stedfast mean, Counting the cost, in all t' espy Their G.o.d, in all themselves deny.

Oh, could we learn that sacrifice, What lights would all around us rise!

How would our hearts with wisdom talk Along Life's dullest, dreariest walk!

We need not bid, for cloistered cell, Our neighbour and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky:

The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask; Room to deny ourselves; a road To bring us daily nearer G.o.d.