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.

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

The Three Horses

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Goal

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Lost But Safe

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Thy Heart

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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The Wakeful Sleeper

    When things are holding wonted pace
    In wonted paths, without a trace
    Or hint of neighbouring wonder,
    Sometimes, from other realms, a tone,
    A scent, a vision, swift, alone,
    Breaks common life asunder.

    Howe'er it comes, whate'er its door,
    It makes you ponder something more--
    Unseen with seen things linking:
    To neighbours met one festive night,
    Was given a quaint and lovely sight,
    That set some of them thinking.

    They stand, in music's fetters bound
    By a clear brook of warbled sound,
    A canzonet of Haydn,
    When the door slowly comes ajar--
    A little further--just as far
    As shows a tiny maiden.

    Softly she enters, her pink toes
    Daintily peeping, as she goes,...

George MacDonald

Going To Sleep

    Little one, you must not fret
    That I take your clothes away;
    Better sleep you so will get,
    And at morning wake more gay--
        Saith the children's mother.

    You I must unclothe again,
    For you need a better dress;
    Too much worn are body and brain;
    You need everlastingness--
        Saith the heavenly father.

    I went down death's lonely stair;
    Laid my garments in the tomb;
    Dressed again one morning fair;
    Hastened up, and hied me home--
        Saith the elder brother.

    Then I will not be afraid
    Any ill can come to me;
    When 'tis time to go to bed,
    I will rise and go with thee--
        Saith the little brother.

George MacDonald

Bedtime

    "Come, children, put away your toys;
    Roll up that kite's long line;
    The day is done for girls and boys--
    Look, it is almost nine!
    Come, weary foot, and sleepy head,
    Get up, and come along to bed."

    The children, loath, must yet obey;
    Up the long stair they creep;
    Lie down, and something sing or say
    Until they fall asleep,
    To steal through caverns of the night
    Into the morning's golden light.

    We, elder ones, sit up more late,
    And tasks unfinished ply,
    But, gently busy, watch and wait--
    Dear sister, you and I,
    To hear the Father, with soft tread,
    Coming to carry us to bed.

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

Rest

I.

    When round the earth the Father's hands
        Have gently drawn the dark;
    Sent off the sun to fresher lands,
        And curtained in the lark;
    'Tis sweet, all tired with glowing day,
        To fade with fading light,
    And lie once more, the old weary way,
        Upfolded in the night.

    If mothers o'er our slumbers bend,
        And unripe kisses reap,
    In soothing dreams with sleep they blend,
        Till even in dreams we sleep.
    And if we wake while night is dumb,
        'Tis sweet to turn and say,
    It is an hour ere dawning come,
        And I will sleep till day.


II.

    There is a dearer, warmer bed,
        Where one all day may lie,
    Earth's bosom pillowing the hea...

George MacDonald

A Dream Of Waking

    A child was born in sin and shame,
    Wronged by his very birth,
    Without a home, without a name,
    One over in the earth.

    No wifely triumph he inspired,
    Allayed no husband's fear;
    Intruder bare, whom none desired,
    He had a welcome drear.

    Heaven's beggar, all but turned adrift
    For knocking at earth's gate,
    His mother, like an evil gift,
    Shunned him with sickly hate.

    And now the mistress on her knee
    The unloved baby bore,
    The while the servant sullenly
    Prepared to leave her door.

    Her eggs are dear to mother-dove,
    Her chickens to the hen;
    All young ones bring with them their love,
    Of sheep, or goats, or men!

    This one lone child shall no...

George MacDonald