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

a meek white babe from the womb of night! One golden planet sits and stings The shifting gloom with his point of light! Lo, the sun on its throne of flame! -Wouldst thou climb and win a crown? Oh, many a heart that pants for the same Falls to the earth ere he goes down! Thy heart is a flower with an open cup- Sit and watch, if it pleaseth thee, Till the melting twilight fill it up With a crystal of tender sympathy; So, gently will it tremble The silent midnight through, And flocks of stars assemble By turns in its depths of dew;- But look! oh, look again! After the driving wind and rain! When the day is up and the sun is strong, And the voices of men are loud and long, When the flower hath slunk to its rest again, And love is lost in the strife of men!

Let the morning break with thoughts of love, And the evening fall with dreams of bliss- So vainly panteth the prisoned dove For the depths of her sweet wilderness; So stoops the eagle in his pride From his rocky nest ere the bow is bent; So sleeps the deer on the mountain-side Ere the howling pack hath caught the scent!

The fire climbs high till its work is done; The stalk falls down when the flower is gone; And the stars of heaven when their course is run Melt silently away! There was a footfall on the snow, A line of light on the ocean-flow, And a billow's dash on the rocks below That stand by the wintry bay:- The snow was gone on the coming night; Another wave arose in his might, Uplifted his foaming breast of white, And died like the rest for aye!

Oh, the stars were bright! and thyself in thee Yearned for an immortality! And the thoughts that drew from thy busy brain Clasped the worlds like an endless chain- When a moon arose, and her moving chime Smote on thy soul, like a word in time, Or a breathless wish, or a thought in rime, And the truth that looked so gloomy and high Leapt to thy arms with a joyful cry! But what wert thou when a soulless Cause Opened the book of its barren laws, And thy spirit that was so glad and free Was caught in the gin of necessity, And a howl arose from the strife of things Vexing each other with scorpion stings? What wert thou but an orphan child Thrust from the door when the night was wild? Or a sailor on the toiling main Looking blindly up through the wind and rain As the hull of the vessel fell in twain!

Seals are on the book of fate, Hands may not unbind it; Eyes may search for truth till late, But will never find it-! Rising on the brow of night Like a portent of dismay, As the worlds in wild affright Track it on its direful way; Resting like a rainbow bar Where the curve and level meet, As the children chase it far O'er the sands with blistered feet; Sadly through the mist of ages Gazing on this life of fear, Doubtful shining on its pages, Only seen to disappear! Sit thee by the sounding shore -Winds and waves of human breath!- Learn a lesson from their roar, Swelling, bursting evermore: Live thy life and die thy death! Die not like the writhing worm, Rise and win thy highest stake; Better perish in the storm Than sit rotting on the lake! Triumph in thy present youth, Pulse of fire and heart of glee; Leap at once into the truth, If there is a truth for thee.

Shapeless thoughts and dull opinions, Slow distinctions and degrees,- Vex not thou thy weary pinions With such leaden weights as these- Through this mystic jurisdiction Reaching out a hand by chance, Resting on a dull conviction Whetted but by ignorance; Living ever to behold Mournful eyes that watch and weep; Spirit suns that flashed in gold Failing from the vasty deep; Starry lights that glowed like Truth Gazing with unnumbered eyes, Melting from the skies of youth, Swallowed up of mysteries; Cords of love that sweetly bound thee; Faded writing on thy brow; Presences that came around thee; Hands of faith that fail thee now!

Groping hands will ever find thee In the night with loads of chains! Lift thy fetters and unbind thee, Cast thee on the midnight plains: Shapes of vision all-providing- Famished cheeks and hungry cries! Sound of crystal waters sliding- Thirsty lips and bloodshot eyes! Empty forms that send no gleaming Through the mystery of this strife!- Oh, in such a life of seeming, Death were worth an endless life!

Hark the trumpet of the ocean Where glad lands were wont to be! Many voices of commotion Break in tumult over thee! Lo, they climb the frowning ages, Marching o'er their level lands! Far behind the strife that rages Silence sits with clasped hands; Undivided Purpose, freeing His own steps from hindrances, Sending out great floods of being, Bathes thy steps in silentness. Sit thee down in mirth and laughter- One there is that waits for thee; If there is a true hereafter He will lend thee eyes to see.

Like a snowflake gently falling On a quiet fountain, Or a weary echo calling From a distant mountain, Drop thy hands in peace,- Fail-falter-cease.


OF ONE WHO DIED IN SPRING .

Loosener of springs, he died by thee! Softness, not hardness, sent him home; He loved thee-and thou mad'st him free Of all the place thou comest from!


AN AUTUMN SONG .

Are the leaves falling round about
The churchyard on the hill? Is the glow of autumn going out?
Is that the winter chill? And yet through winter's noise, no doubt
The graves are very still!

Are the woods empty, voiceless, bare?
On sodden leaves do you tread? Is nothing left of all those fair?
Is the whole summer fled? Well, so from this unwholesome air
Have gone away these dead!

The seasons pierce me; like a leaf
I feel the autumn blow, And tremble between nature's grief
And the silent death below. O Summer, thou art very brief!
Where do these exiles go?

Gilesgate, Durham.


TRIOLET .

Few in joy's sweet riot Able are to listen: Thou, to make me quiet, Quenchest the sweet riot, Tak'st away my diet, Puttest me in prison- Quenchest joy's sweet riot That the heart may listen.


I SEE THEE NOT .

Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find
A little faith on earth, if I am here! Thou know'st how oft I turn to thee my mind.
How sad I wait until thy face appear!

Hast thou not ploughed my thorny ground full sore,
And from it gathered many stones and sherds? Plough, plough and harrow till it needs no more-
Then sow thy mustard-seed, and send thy birds.

I love thee, Lord; and if I yield to fears,
Nor trust with triumph that pale doubt defies, Remember, Lord, 'tis nigh two thousand years,
And I have never seen thee with mine eyes!

And when I lift them from the wondrous tale,
See, all about me hath so strange a show! Is that thy river running down the vale?
Is that thy wind that through the pines doth blow?

Could'st thou right verily appear again,
The same who walked the paths of Palestine, And here in England teach thy trusting men
In church and field and house, with word and sign?

Here are but lilies, sparrows, and the rest!
My hands on some dear proof would light and stay! But my heart sees John leaning on thy breast,
And sends them forth to do what thou dost say.


A BROKEN PRAYER .

0 Lord, my God, how long Shall my poor heart pant for a boundless joy? How long, O mighty Spirit, shall I hear The murmur of Truth's crystal waters slide From the deep caverns of their endless being, But my lips taste not, and the grosser air Choke each pure inspiration of thy will?

I am a denseness 'twixt me and the light; 1 cannot round myself; my purest thought, Ere it is thought, hath caught the taint of earth, And mocked me with hard thoughts beyond my will.

I would be a wind Whose smallest atom is a viewless wing, All busy with the pulsing life that throbs To do thy bidding; yea, or the meanest thing That has relation to a changeless truth, Could I but be instinct with thee-each thought The lightning of a pure intelligence, And every act as the loud thunder-clap Of currents warring for a vacuum.

Lord, clothe me with thy truth as with a robe; Purge me with sorrow; I will bend my head And let the nations of thy waves pass over, Bathing me in thy consecrated strength; And let thy many-voiced and silver winds Pass through my frame with their clear influence, O save me; I am blind; lo, thwarting shapes Wall up the void before, and thrusting out Lean arms of unshaped expectation, beckon Down to the night of all unholy thoughts.

Oh, when at midnight one of thy strong angels Stems back the waves of earthly influence That shape unsteady continents around me, And they draw off with the devouring gush Of exile billows that have found a home, Leaving me islanded on unseen points, Hanging 'twixt thee and chaos-I have seen Unholy shapes lop off my shining thoughts, And they have lent me leathern wings of fear, Of baffled pride and harrowing distrust; And Godhead, with its crown of many stars, Its pinnacles of flaming holiness, And voice of leaves in the green summer-time, Has seemed the shadowed image of a self! Then my soul blackened; and I rose to find And grasp my doom, and cleave the arching deeps Of desolation.

O Lord, my soul is a forgotten well Clad round with its own rank luxuriance; A fountain a kind sunbeam searches for, Sinking the lustre of its arrowy finger Through the long grass its own strange virtue Hath blinded up its crystal eye withal: Make me a broad strong river coming down With shouts from its high hills, whose rocky hearts Throb forth the joy of their stability In watery pulses from their inmost deeps; And I shall be a vein upon thy world, Circling perpetual from the parent deep.

Most mighty One, Confirm and multiply my thoughts of good; Help me to wall each sacred treasure round With the firm battlements of special action. Alas, my holy happy thoughts of thee Make not perpetual nest within my soul, But like strange birds of dazzling colours stoop The trailing glories of their sunward speed For one glad moment, filling my blasted boughs With the sunshine of their wings. Make me a forest Of gladdest life wherein perpetual spring Lifts up her leafy tresses in the wind. Lo, now I see Thy trembling starlight sit among my pines, And thy young moon slide down my arching boughs With a soft sound of restless eloquence! And I can feel a joy as when thy hosts Of trampling winds, gathering in maddened bands, Roar upward through the blue and flashing day Round my still depths of uncleft solitude.