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!

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

Longing.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

A Dream Of Waking

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Lessons For A Child.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Song

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Flower-Angels

    Of old, with goodwill from the skies--
    God's message to them given--
    The angels came, a glad surprise,
    And went again to heaven.

    But now the angels are grown rare,
    Needed no more as then;
    Far lowlier messengers can bear
    God's goodwill unto men.

    Each year, the snowdrops' pallid dawn
    Breaks from the earth below;
    Light spreads, till, from the dark updrawn,
    The noontide roses glow.

    The snowdrops first--the dawning gray;
    Then out the roses burn!
    They speak their word, grow dim--away
    To holy dust return.

    Of oracles were little dearth,
    Should heaven continue dumb;
    From lowliest corners of the earth
    God's messages will come.

    In thy face...

George MacDonald

A Song In The Night

I would I were an angel strong,
An angel of the sun, hasting along!

I would I were just come awake,
A child outbursting from night's dusky brake!

Or lark whose inward, upward fate
Mocks every wall that masks the heavenly gate!

Or hopeful cock whose clarion clear
Shrills ten times ere a film of dawn appear!

Or but a glowworm: even then
My light would come straight from the Light of Men!

I am a dead seed, dark and slow:
Father of larks and children, make me grow.

George MacDonald

An Angel In The House

How sweet it were, if without feeble fright,
Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight,
An angel came to us, and we could bear
To see him issue from the silent air
At evening in our room, and bend on ours
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers
News of dear friends, and children who have never
Been dead indeed,as we shall know forever.
Alas! we think not what we daily see
About our hearths,angels that are to be,
Or may be if they will, and we prepare
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air;
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

The Angels.

"Where are the angels, mother?
    Though you have often said
They watched at night around me,
    And safely kept my bed;

"Though every night I listen
    Their voices low to hear,
Yet I have never heard them,--
    Where are they, mother dear?

"And when the silver moonshine
    Fills all my room with light,
And when the stars are shining,
    So countless and so bright.

"I hope to see them coming,
    With their fair forms, to me;
Yet I have never seen them,--
    Mother, where can they be?

"I saw a cloud, this evening,
    Red with the setting sun;
It was so very lovely,
    I thought it might be one.

"But when it faded slowly,
    I knew it could not be,
For they are always shining;
    Why c...

H. P. Nichols

The Shadows

    My little boy, with smooth, fair cheeks,
    And dreamy, large, brown eyes,
    Not often, little wisehead, speaks,
    But hearing, weighs and tries.

    "God is not only in the sky,"
    His sister said one day--
    Not older much, but she would cry
    Like Wisdom in the way--

    "He's in this room." His dreamy, clear,
    Large eyes look round for God:
    In vain they search, in vain they peer;
    His wits are all abroad!

    "He is not here, mamma? No, no;
    I do not see him at all!
    He's not the shadows, is he?" So
    His doubtful accents fall--

    Fall on my heart, no babble mere!
    They rouse both love and shame:
    But for earth's loneliness and fear,
    I might be saying the same!

 ...

George MacDonald

The Holy Snowdrops.

Of old, with goodwill from the skies,
    The holy angels came;
They walked the earth with human eyes,
    And passed away in flame.

But now the angels are withdrawn,
    Because the flowers can speak;
With Christ, we see the dayspring dawn
    In every snowdrop meek.

God sends them forth; to God they tend;
    Not less with love they burn,
That to the earth they lowly bend,
    And unto dust return.

No miracle in them hath place,
    For this world is their home;
An utterance of essential grace
    The angel-snowdrops come.

George MacDonald