Failure

    Farewell, O Arm of the Lord!
    Man who hated the sword,
    Yet struck and spared not the thing abhorred!
    Farewell, O word of the Word!
    Man who knew no failure
    But the failure of the Lord!

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

Translations. - The Words Of Faith. (From Schiller.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Old Castle

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Fighting

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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To Gordon, Leaving Khartoum.

    The silence of traitorous feet!
    The silence of close-pent rage!
    The roar, and the sudden heart-beat!
        And the shot through the true heart going,
    The truest heart of the age!
        And the Nile serenely flowing!

    Carnage and curses and cries!
    He utters never a word;
    Still as a child he lies;
        The wind of the desert is blowing
    Across the dead man of the Lord;
        And the Nile is softly flowing.

    But the song is stilled in heaven
    To welcome one more king:
    For the truth he hath witnessed and striven,
        And let the world go crowing,
    And Mammon's church-bell go ring,
        And the Nile blood-red go flowing!

    Man who hated the sword
    Yet wielded the sword ...

George MacDonald

The Diary Of An Old Soul. - March.

        1.

        THE song birds that come to me night and morn,
        Fly oft away and vanish if I sleep,
        Nor to my fowling-net will one return:
        Is the thing ever ours we cannot keep?--
        But their souls go not out into the deep.
        What matter if with changed song they come back?
        Old strength nor yet fresh beauty shall they lack.

        2.

        Gloriously wasteful, O my Lord, art thou!
        Sunset faints after sunset into the night,
        Splendorously dying from thy window-sill--
        For ever. Sad our poverty doth bow
        Before the riches of thy making might:
        Sweep from thy space thy systems at thy will--
        In thee the sun sets every sunset still.

        3.
<...

George MacDonald

The Lost Soul

    Look! look there!
Send your eyes across the gray
By my finger-point away
Through the vaporous, fumy air.
Beyond the air, you see the dark?
Beyond the dark, the dawning day?
On its horizon, pray you, mark
Something like a ruined heap
Of worlds half-uncreated, that go back:
Down all the grades through which they rose
Up to harmonious life and law's repose,
Back, slow, to the awful deep
Of nothingness, mere being's lack:
On its surface, lone and bare,
Shapeless as a dumb despair,
Formless, nameless, something lies:
Can the vision in your eyes
Its idea recognize?

    'Tis a poor lost soul, alack!--
Half he lived some ages back;
But, with hardly opened eyes,
Thinking him already wise,
Down he sat and wrote a book;
Drew h...

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

The Diary Of An Old Soul. - September.

        1.

        WE are a shadow and a shining, we!
        One moment nothing seems but what we see,
        Nor aught to rule but common circumstance--
        Nought is to seek but praise, to shun but chance;
        A moment more, and God is all in all,
        And not a sparrow from its nest can fall
        But from the ground its chirp goes up into his hall.

        2.

        I know at least which is the better mood.
        When on a heap of cares I sit and brood,
        Like Job upon his ashes, sorely vext,
        I feel a lower thing than when I stood
        The world's true heir, fearless as, on its stalk,
        A lily meeting Jesus in his walk:
        I am not all mood--I can judge betwixt.

        3.

   ...

George MacDonald

A Prayer For The Past

    All sights and sounds of day and year,
    All groups and forms, each leaf and gem,
    Are thine, O God, nor will I fear
    To talk to thee of them.

        Too great thy heart is to despise,
    Whose day girds centuries about;
    From things which we name small, thine eyes
    See great things looking out.

        Therefore the prayerful song I sing
    May come to thee in ordered words:
    Though lowly born, it needs not cling
    In terror to its chords.

        I think that nothing made is lost;
    That not a moon has ever shone,
    That not a cloud my eyes hath crossed
    But to my soul is gone.

        That all the lost years garnered lie
    In this thy casket, my dim soul;
    And thou wilt, once, th...

George MacDonald