A Song-Sermon:

Job xiv. 13-15.

RONDEL.

Would that thou hid me in the grave
And kept me with death's gaoler-care;
Until thy wrath away should wear
A sentence fixed thy prisoner gave!
I would endure with patience brave
So thou remembered I was there!
Would that thou hid me in the grave,
And kept me with death's gaoler-care!

To see thy creature thou wouldst crave--
Desire thy handiwork so fair;
Then wouldst thou call through death's dank air
And I would answer from the cave!
Would that thou hid me in the grave,
And kept me with death's gaoler-care!

George MacDonald

George MacDonald (1824–1905) was a Scottish author, poet, and Christian minister best known for his fairy tales and fantasy novels. He was a pioneer in the fantasy genre, influencing notable writers such as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. His major works include "Phantastes" and "Lilith," as well as numerous poems and other literary works. MacDonald's writings are characterized by their imaginative qualities and deep spiritual insight.

George MacDonald

In A Churchyard.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - The Creed. (Luther's Song-Book.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Not Understood.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Nannie Braw

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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De Profundis

When I am dead unto myself, and let,
O Father, thee live on in me,
Contented to do nought but pay my debt,
And leave the house to thee,

Then shall I be thy ransomed--from the cark
Of living, from the strain for breath,
From tossing in my coffin strait and dark,
At hourly strife with death!

Have mercy! in my coffin! and awake!
A buried temple of the Lord!
Grow, Temple, grow! Heart, from thy cerements break!
Stream out, O living Sword!

When I am with thee as thou art with me,
Life will be self-forgetting power;
Love, ever conscious, buoyant, clear, and free,
Will flame in darkest hour.

Where now I sit alone, unmoving, calm,
With windows open to thy wind,
Shall I not know thee in the radiant psalm
Soaring from heart and mind...

George MacDonald

Translations. - Death. (Luther's Song-Book.)

In the midst of life, we are
Aye in Death's embraces.
Who is there who help us can
And in safety place us?
Lord, thou art he, thou only.
From our ill deeds we sorrowing turn
That have made thy anger burn.
Holy, holy Lord God,
Holy, mighty Lord God,
Holy Saviour with the tender heart,
Everlasting God,
Let us not be swallowed
In the misery of death:
Lord, have mercy upon us.

In the midst of death, behold
Hell's jaws gaping at us!
Who will from such dire distress
Free and scathless set us?
Lord, that dost thou, thou only:
It fills thy tender heart with woe
We should sin and suffer so.
Holy, holy Lord God,
Holy, mighty Lord God,
Holy Saviour with the tender heart,
Everlasting God,
Let us not be gasted
By hell...

George MacDonald

Quiet Dead!

Quiet, quiet dead,
Have ye aught to say
From your hidden bed
In the earthy clay?

Fathers, children, mothers,
Ye are very quiet;
Can ye shout, my brothers?
I would know you by it!

Have ye any words
That are like to ours?
Have ye any birds?
Have ye any flowers?

Could ye rise a minute
When the sun is warm?
I would know you in it,
I would take no harm.

I am half afraid
In the ghostly night;
If ye all obeyed
I should fear you quite.

But when day is breaking
In the purple east
I would meet you waking--
One of you at least--

When the sun is tipping
Every stony block,
And the sun is slipping
Down the weathercock.

Quiet, quiet dead,
I will not perplex you;
Wh...

George MacDonald

Death

    When in the bosom of the eldest night
    This body lies, cold as a sculptured rest;
    When through its shaded windows comes no light,
    And its pale hands are folded on its breast--

        How shall I fare, who had to wander out,
    And of the unknown land the frontier cross,
    Peering vague-eyed, uncertain, all about,
    Unclothed, mayhap unwelcomed, bathed in loss?

        Shall I depart slow-floating like a mist,
    Over the city murmuring beneath;
    Over the trees and fields, where'er I list,
    Seeking the mountain and the lonely heath?

        Or will a darkness, o'er material shows
    Descending, hide them from the spirit's sight;
    As from the sun a blotting radiance flows
    Athwart the stars all glorious through the...

George MacDonald

Life Or Death?

Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep,
For every flower that ends its little span,
For every child that groweth up to man,
For every captive bird a cage doth keep,
For every aching eye that went to sleep
Long ages back, when other eyes began
To see and know and love as now they can,
Unravelling God's wonders heap by heap?
Or doth the Past lie 'mid Eternity
In charnel dens that rot and reek alway,
A dismal light for those that go astray,
A pit of foul deformity--to be,
Beauty, a dreadful source of growth for thee
When thou wouldst lift thine eyes to greet the day?

George MacDonald

Death.

When, like a garment flung aside at night,
This body lies, or sculpture of cold rest;
When through its shaded windows comes no light,
And the white hands are folded on its breast;

How will it be with Me, its tenant now?
How shall I feel when first I wander out?
How look on tears from loved eyes falling? How
Look forth upon dim mysteries round about?

Shall I go forth, slow-floating like a mist,
Over the city with its crowded walls?
Over the trees and meadows where I list?
Over the mountains and their ceaseless falls?

Over the red cliffs and fantastic rocks;
Over the sea, far-down, fleeting away;
White sea-birds shining, and the billowy shocks
Heaving unheard their shore-besieging spray?

Or will a veil, o'er all material things
Slow-...

George MacDonald