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

Love replies, Singing Father in his ear
Where she bleeding lies.

Therefore, if my heart were right
I should sing out clear, Sing aloud both day and night
Every month in the year!


SUNDAY ,

DECEMBER 28, 1879.

A dim, vague shrinking haunts my soul,
My spirit bodeth ill- As some far-off restraining bank Had burst, and waters, many a rank,
Were marching on my hill;

As if I had no fire within
For thoughts to sit about; As if I had no flax to spin, No lamp to lure the good things in
And keep the bad things out.

The wind, south-west, raves in the pines
That guard my cottage round; The sea-waves fall in stormy lines Below the sandy cliffs and chines,
And swell the roaring sound.

The misty air, the bellowing wind
Not often trouble me; The storm that's outside of the mind Doth oftener wake my heart to find
More peace and liberty.

Why is not such my fate to-night?
Chance is not lord of things! Man were indeed a hapless wight Things, thoughts occurring as they might-
Chaotic wallowings!

The man of moods might merely say
As by the fire he sat, "I am low spirited to-day; I must do something, work or play,
Lest care should kill the cat!"

Not such my saw: I was not meant
To be the sport of things! The mood has meaning and intent, And my dull heart is humbly bent
To have the truth it brings.

This sense of needed shelter round,
This frequent mental start Show what a poor life mine were found, To what a dead self I were bound,
How feeble were my heart,

If I who think did stand alone
Centre to what I thought, A brain within a box of bone, A king on a deserted throne,
A something that was nought!

A being without power to be,
Or any power to cease; Whom objects but compelled to see, Whose trouble was a windblown sea,
A windless sea his peace!

This very sadness makes me think
How readily I might Be driven to reason's farthest brink, Then over it, and sudden sink
In ghastly waves of night.

It makes me know when I am glad
'Tis thy strength makes me strong; But for thy bliss I should be sad, But for thy reason should be mad,
But for thy right be wrong.

Around me spreads no empty waste,
No lordless host of things; My restlessness but seeks thy rest; My little good doth seek thy best,
My needs thy ministerings.

'Tis this, this only makes me safe-
I am, immediate, Of one that lives; I am no waif That haggard waters toss and chafe,
But of a royal fate,

The born-child of a Power that lives
Because it will and can, A Love whose slightest motion gives, A Freedom that forever strives
To liberate his Man.

I live not on the circling air,
Live not by daily food; I live not even by thinkings fair, I hold my very being there
Where God is pondering good.

Because God lives I live; because
He thinks, I also think; I am dependent on no laws But on himself, and without pause;
Between us hangs no link.

The man that lives he knows not how
May well fear any mouse! I should be trembling this same now If I did think, my Father, thou
Wast nowhere in the house!

O Father, lift me on thine arm,
And hold me close to thee; Lift me into thy breathing warm, Then cast me, and I fear no harm,
Into creation's sea!


SONG-SERMON .

In his arms thy silly lamb, Lo, he gathers to his breast! See, thou sadly bleating dam, See him lift thy silly lamb! Hear it cry, "How blest I am! Here is love, and love is rest!" In his arms thy silly lamb See him gather to his breast!


THE DONKEY IN THE CART TO THE HORSE IN THE CARRIAGE .

I.

I say! hey! cousin there! I mustn't call you brother! Yet you have a tail behind, and I have another! You pull, and I pull, though we don't pull together: You have less hardship, and I have more weather!

II.

Your legs are long, mine are short; I am lean, you are fatter; Your step is bold and free, mine goes pitter-patter; Your head is in the air, and mine hangs down like lead- But then my two great ears are so heavy on my head!

III.

You need not whisk your stump, nor turn away your nose; Poor donkeys ain't so stupid as rich horses may suppose! I could feed in any manger just as well as you, Though I don't despise a thistle-with sauce of dust and dew!

IV.

T'other day a bishop's cob stopped before me in a lane, With a tail as broad as oil-cake, and a close-clipped hoggy mane; I stood sideways to the hedge, but he did not want to pass, And he was so full of corn he didn't care about the grass.

V.

Quoth the cob, "You are a donkey of a most peculiar breed! You've just eaten up a thistle that was going fast to seed! If you had but let it be, you might have raised a crop! To many a coming dinner you have put a sad stop!"

VI.

I told him I was hungry, and to leave one of ten Would have spoiled my best dinner, the one I wanted then. Said the cob, " I ought to know the truth about dinners,
I don't eat on roadsides like poor tramping sinners!"

VII.

"Why don't you take it easy? You are working much too hard! In the shafts you'll die one day, if you're not upon your guard! Have pity on your friends: work seems to you delectable, But believe me such a cart-excuse me-'s not respectable!"

VIII.

I told him I must trot in the shafts where I was put, Nor look round at the cart, but set foremost my best foot; It was rather rickety, and the axle wanted oil, But I always slept at night with the deep sleep of toil!

IX.

"All very fine," he said, "to wag your ears and parley, And pretend you quite despise my bellyfuls of barley! But with blows and with starving, and with labour over-hard, By spurs! a week will see you in the knacker's yard."

X.

I thanked him for his counsel, and said I thought I'd take it, really, If he'd spare me half a feed out of four feeds daily. He tossed his head at that: "Now don't be cheeky!" said he; "When I find I'm getting fat, I'll think of you: keep steady."

XI.

"Good-bye!" I said-and say, for you are such another! Why, now I look at you, I see you are his brother! Yes, thank you for your kick: 'twas all that you could spare, For, sure, they clip and singe you very, very bare!

XII.

My cart it is upsets you! but in that cart behind There's no dirt or rubbish, no bags of gold or wind! There's potatoes there, and wine, and corn, and mustard-seed, And a good can of milk, and some honey too, indeed!

XIII.

Few blows I get, some hay, and of water many a draught: I tell you he's no coster that sits upon my shaft! And for the knacker's yard-that's not my destined bed: No donkey ever yet saw himself there lying dead.


ROOM TO ROAM .

Strait is the path? He means we must not roam? Yes; but the strait path leads into a boundless home.


COTTAGE SONGS .

I.-BY THE CRADLE.

Close her eyes: she must not peep! Let her little puds go slack; Slide away far into sleep: Sis will watch till she comes back!

Mother's knitting at the door, Waiting till the kettle sings; When the kettle's song is o'er She will set the bright tea-things.

Father's busy making hay In the meadow by the brook, Not so very far away- Close its peeps, it needn't look!

God is round us everywhere- Sees the scythe glitter and rip; Watches baby gone somewhere; Sees how mother's fingers skip!

Sleep, dear baby; sleep outright:
Mother's sitting just behind: Father's only out of sight;
God is round us like the wind.

II.-SWEEPING THE FLOOR.

Sweep and sweep and sweep the floor,
Sweep the dust, pick up the pin; Make it clean from fire to door,
Clean for father to come in!

Mother said that God goes sweeping,
Looking, sweeping with a broom, All the time that we are sleeping,
For a shilling in the room:

Did he drop it out of glory,
Walking far above the birds? Or did parson make the story
For the thinking afterwards?

If I were the swept-for shilling
I would hearken through the gloom; Roll out fast, and fall down willing
Right before the sweeping broom!

III.-WASHING THE CLOTHES.

This is the way we wash the clo'es
Free from dirt and smoke and clay! Through and through the water flows,
Carries Ugly right away!

This is the way we bleach the clo'es:
Lay them out upon the green; Through and through the sunshine goes,
Makes them white as well as clean!

This is the way we dry the clo'es:
Hang them on the bushes about; Through and through the soft wind blows,
Draws and drives the wetness out!

Water, sun, and windy air
Make the clothes clean, white, and sweet Lay them now in lavender
For the Sunday, folded neat!

IV.-DRAWING WATER.

Dark, as if it would not tell,
Lies the water, still and cool: Dip the bucket in the well,
Lift it from the precious pool!

Up it comes all brown and dim,
Telling of the twilight sweet: As it rises to the brim
See the sun and water meet!

See the friends each other hail!
"Here you are!" cries Master Sun; Mistress Water from the pail
Flashes back, alive with fun!

Have you not a tale to tell,
Water, as I take you home? Tell me of the hidden well
Whence you, first of all, did come.

Of it you have kept some flavour
Through long paths of darkling strife: Water all has still a savour
Of the primal well of life!

Could you show the lovely way
Back and up through sea and sky To that well? Oh, happy day,
I would drink, and never die!

Jesus sits there on its brink
All the world's great thirst to slake, Offering