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.

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

A Vision Of St. Eligius

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Waiting

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Dead Hand

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Let Your Light So Shine.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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I Would I Were A Child.

    I would I were a child,
That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father!
And follow Thee with running feet, or rather
    Be led thus through the wild.

    How I would hold thy hand!
My glad eyes often to thy glory lifting,
Which casts all beauteous shadows, ever shifting,
    Over this sea and land.

    If a dark thing came near,
I would but creep within thy mantle's folding,
Shut my eyes close, thy hand yet faster holding,
    And so forget my fear.

    O soul, O soul, rejoice!
Thou art God's child indeed, for all thy sinning;
A trembling child, yet his, and worth the winning
    With gentle eyes and voice.

    The words like echoes flow.
They are too good; mine I can call them never;
Such water drinking once, I should ...

George MacDonald

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.

George MacDonald

I Would I Were A Child

    I would I were a child,
    That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father!
    And follow thee with running feet, or rather
        Be led through dark and wild!

        How I would hold thy hand,
    My glad eyes often to thy glory lifting!
    Should darkness 'twixt thy face and mine come drifting,
        My heart would but expand.

        If an ill thing came near,
    I would but creep within thy mantle's folding,
    Shut my eyes close, thy hand yet faster holding,
        And soon forget my fear.

        O soul, O soul, rejoice!
    Thou art God's child indeed, for all thy sinning;
    A poor weak child, yet his, and worth the winning
        With saviour eyes and voice.

        Who spake the words? Didst Thou?
    Th...

George MacDonald

He Heeded Not

    Of whispering trees the tongues to hear,
    And sermons of the silent stone;
    To read in brooks the print so clear
    Of motion, shadowy light, and tone--
    That man hath neither eye nor ear
    Who careth not for human moan.

    Yea, he who draws, in shrinking haste,
    From sin that passeth helpless by;
    The weak antennae of whose taste
    From touch of alien grossness fly--
    Shall, banished to the outer waste,
    Never in Nature's bosom lie.

    But he whose heart is full of grace
    To his own kindred all about,
    Shall find in lowest human face,
    Blasted with wrong and dull with doubt,
    More than in Nature's holiest place
    Where mountains dwell and streams run out.

    Coarse cries of strife assa...

George MacDonald

The Children's Heaven.

    The infant lies in blessed ease
        Upon his mother's breast;
    No storm, no dark, the baby sees
        Invade his heaven of rest.
    He nothing knows of change or death--
        Her face his holy skies;
    The air he breathes, his mother's breath;
        His stars, his mother's eyes!

    Yet half the soft winds wandering there
        Are sighs that come of fears;
    The dew slow falling through that air--
        It is the dew of tears;
    And ah, my child, thy heavenly home
        Hath storms as well as dew;
    Black clouds fill sometimes all its dome,
        And quench the starry blue!

    "My smile would win no smile again,
        If baby saw the things
    That ache across his mother's brain
        The whi...

George MacDonald

Sympathy

    Grief held me silent in my seat;
        I neither moved nor smiled:
    Joy held her silent at my feet,
        My shining lily-child.

    She raised her face and looked in mine;
        She deemed herself denied;
    The door was shut, there was no shine;
        Poor she was left outside!

    Once, twice, three times, with infant grace
        Her lips my name did mould;
    Her face was pulling at my face--
        She was but ten months old.

    I saw; the sight rebuked my sighs;
        It made me think--Does God
    Need help from his poor children's eyes
        To ease him of his load?

    Ah, if he did, how seldom then
        The Father would be glad!
    If comfort lay in the eyes of men,
        He little...

George MacDonald