The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 2, George MacDonald [8 ebook reader TXT] 📗

known; Know thee my father, every hour and day, As thou know'st me thine own!


BLIND SORROW .

"My life is drear; walking I labour sore;
The heart in me is heavy as a stone; And of my sorrows this the icy core:
Life is so wide, and I am all alone!"

Thou did'st walk so, with heaven-born eyes down bent
Upon the earth's gold-rosy, radiant clay, That thou had'st seen no star in all God's tent
Had not thy tears made pools first on the way.

Ah, little knowest thou the tender care
In a love-plenteous cloak around thee thrown! Full many a dim-seen, saving mountain-stair
Toiling thou climb'st-but not one step alone!

Lift but thy languid head and see thy guide;
Let thy steps go in his, nor choose thine own; Then soon wilt thou, thine eyes with wonder wide,
Cry, Now I know I never was alone !


MOTES IN THE SUN.


ANGELS .

Came of old to houses lonely
Men with wings, but did not show them: Angels come to our house, only,
For their wings, they do not know them!


THE FATHER'S WORSHIPPERS .

'Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray; The children in thy bosom laugh and play.


A BIRTHDAY-WISH .

Who know thee, love: thy life be such
That, ere the year be o'er, Each one who loves thee now so much,
Even God, may love thee more!


TO ANY ONE .

Go not forth to call Dame Sorrow From the dim fields of Tomorrow; Let her roam there all unheeded, She will come when she is needed; Then, when she draws near thy door, She will find God there before.


WAITING .

Lie, little cow, and chew thy cud,
The farmer soon will shift thy tether; Chirp, linnet, on the frozen mud,
Sun and song will come together; Wait, soul, for God, and thou shalt bud,
He waits thy waiting with his weather.


LOST BUT SAFE .

Lost the little one roams about, Pathway or shelter none can find; Blinking stars are coming out; No one is moving but the wind; It is no use to cry or shout, All the world is still as a mouse; One thing only eases her mind: "Father knows I'm not in the house!"


MUCH AND MORE .

When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver,
And eternal bliss looks nearer, Ask thy heart, nor show it favour,
Is the gift or giver dearer?

Love, love on; love higher, deeper;
Let love's ocean close above her; Only, love thou more love's keeper,
More, the love-creating lover.


HOPE AND PATIENCE .

An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled, A-dreaming of the world.

Round it, for castle-wall, a shell Is guarding it well.

Hope is the bird with its dim sensations; The shell that keeps it alive is Patience .


A BETTER THING .

I took it for a bird of prey that soared High over ocean, battled mount, and plain; 'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored The invisibly obstructing window-pane!

Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye, Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve Thee, little angel of a lower sky!


A PRISONER .

The hinges are so rusty The door is fixed and fast; The windows are so dusty The sun looks in aghast: Knock out the glass, I pray, Or dash the door away, Or break the house down bodily, And let my soul go free!


TO MY LORD AND MASTER .

Imagination cannot rise above thee; Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee; My misery away from me I thrust it, For thy perfection I behold, and trust it.


TO ONE UNSATISFIED .

When, with all the loved around thee,
Still thy heart says, "I am lonely," It is well; the truth hath found thee:
Rest is with the Father only.


TO MY GOD .

Oh how oft I wake and find
I have been forgetting thee! I am never from thy mind:
Thou it is that wakest me.


TRIOLET .

Oh that men would praise the Lord
For his goodness unto men! Forth he sends his saving word,
-Oh that men would praise the Lord!- And from shades of death abhorred
Lifts them up to light again: Oh that men would praise the Lord
For his goodness unto men!


THE WORD OF GOD .

Where the bud has never blown
Who for scent is debtor? Where the spirit rests unknown
Fatal is the letter.

In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored,
All things we inherit, For thou art the very Word
And the very Spirit!


EINE KLEINE PREDIGT .

Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leute,
Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen; Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute,
Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen.


TO THE LIFE ETERNAL .

Thou art my thought, my heart, my being's fortune,
The search for thee my growth's first conscious date; For nought, for everything, I thee importune;
Thou art my all, my origin and fate!


HOPE DEFERRED .

"Where is thy crown, O tree of Love?
Flowers only bears thy root! Will never rain drop from above
Divine enough for fruit?"

"I dwell in hope that gives good cheer,
Twilight my darkest hour; For seest thou not that every year
I break in better flower?"


FORGIVENESS .

God gives his child upon his slate a sum-
To find eternity in hours and years; With both sides covered, back the child doth come,
His dim eyes swollen with shed and unshed tears; God smiles, wipes clean the upper side and nether, And says, "Now, dear, we'll do the sum together!"


DEJECTION .

O Father, I am in the dark,
My soul is heavy-bowed: I send my prayer up like a lark,
Up through my vapoury shroud,
To find thee,
And remind thee I am thy child, and thou my father, Though round me death itself should gather.

Lay thy loved hand upon my head,
Let thy heart beat in mine; One thought from thee, when all seems dead,
Will make the darkness shine
About me
And throughout me! And should again the dull night gather, I'll cry again, Thou art my father .


APPEAL .

If in my arms I bore my child,
Would he cry out for fear Because the night was dark and wild
And no one else was near?

Shall I then treat thee, Father, as
My fatherhood would grieve? I will be hopeful, though, alas,
I cannot quite believe!

I had no power, no wish to be:
Thou madest me half blind! The darkness comes! I cling to thee!
Be thou my perfect mind.


POEMS FOR CHILDREN


LESSONS FOR A CHILD .

I.

There breathes not a breath of the summer air But the spirit of love is moving there; Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree, Flutters with hundreds in harmony, But that spirit can part its tone from the rest, And read the life in its beetle's breast. When the sunshiny butterflies come and go, Like flowers paying visits to and fro, Not a single wave of their fanning wings Is unfelt by the spirit that feeleth all things. The long-mantled moths that sleep at noon And rove in the light of the gentler moon; And the myriad gnats that dance like a wall, Or a moving column that will not fall; And the dragon-flies that go burning by, Shot like a glance from a seeking eye- There is one being that loves them all: Not a fly in a spider's web can fall But he cares for the spider, and cares for the fly; He cares for you, whether you laugh or cry, Cares whether your mother smile or sigh. How he cares for so many, I do not know, But it would be too strange if he did not so- Dreadful and dreary for even a fly: So I cannot wait for the how and why , But believe that all things are gathered and nursed In the love of him whose love went first And made this world-like a huge great nest For a hen to sit on with feathery breast.

II.

The bird on the leafy tree,
The bird in the cloudy sky,
The hart in the forest free,
The stag on the mountain high,
The fish inside the sea,
The albatross asleep
On the outside of the deep,
The bee through the summer sunny
Hunting for wells of honey-
What is the thought in the breast
Of the little bird in its nest?
What is the thought in the songs
The lark in the sky prolongs?
What mean the dolphin's rays,
Winding his watery ways?
What is the thought of the stag,
Stately on yonder crag?
What does the albatross think,
Dreaming upon the brink
Of the mountain billow, and then
Dreaming down in its glen?
What is the thought of the bee
Fleeting so silently,
Or flitting-with busy hum,
But a careless go-and-come-
From flower-chalice to chalice,
Like a prince from palace to palace?
What makes them alive, so very-
Some of them, surely, merry.
And others so stately calm
They might be singing a psalm?

I cannot tell what they think--
Only know they eat and drink,
And on all that lies about
With a quiet heart look out,
Each after its kind, stately or coy,
Solemn like man, gamesome like boy,
Glad with its own mysterious joy.

And God, who knows their thoughts and ways
Though his the creatures do not know,
From his full heart fills each of theirs:
Into them all his breath doth go;
Good and better with them he shares;
Content with their bliss while they have no prayers,
He takes their joy for praise.

If thou wouldst be like him, little one, go
And