Foolish Children

    Waking in the night to pray,
    Sleeping when the answer comes,
    Foolish are we even at play--
    Tearfully we beat our drums!
    Cast the good dry bread away,
    Weep, and gather up the crumbs!

    "Evermore," while shines the day,
    "Lord," we cry, "thy will be done!"
    Soon as evening groweth gray,
    Thy fair will we fain would shun!
    "Take, oh, take thy hand away!
    See the horrid dark begun!"

    "Thou hast conquered Death," we say,
    "Christ, whom Hades could not keep!"
    Then, "Ah, see the pallid clay!
    Death it is," we cry, "not sleep!
    Grave, take all. Shut out the Day.
    Sit we on the ground and weep!"

    Gathering potsherds all the day,
    Truant children, Lord, we roam;
    Fret, and longer want to play,
    When at cool thy voice doth come!--
    Elder Brother, lead the way;
    Make us good as we go home.

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

To My Sister, On Her Twenty-First Birthday.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

0 Lord, How Happy!

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Autumn's Gold

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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Christmas Song Of The Old Children

    Well for youth to seek the strong,
        Beautiful, and brave!
    We, the old, who walk along
        Gently to the grave,
    Only pay our court to thee,
    Child of all Eternity!

    We are old who once were young,
        And we grow more old;
    Songs we are that have been sung,
        Tales that have been told;
    Yellow leaves, wind-blown to thee,
    Childhood of Eternity!

    If we come too sudden near,
        Lo, Earth's infant cries,
    For our faces wan and drear
        Have such withered eyes!
    Thou, Heaven's child, turn'st not away
    From the wrinkled ones who pray!

    Smile upon us with thy mouth
        And thine eyes of grace;
    On our cold north breathe thy south.
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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

Wild Flowers

    Content Primroses,
    With hearts at rest in your thick leaves' soft care,
    Peeping as from his mother's lap the child
    Who courts shy shelter from his own open air!--
    Hanging Harebell,
    Whose blue heaven to no wanderer ever closes,
    Though thou still lookest earthward from thy domed cell!--
    Fluttering-wild
    Anemone, so well
    Named of the Wind, to whom thou, fettered-free,
    Yieldest thee, helpless--wilfully,
    With Take me or leave me,
    Sweet Wind, I am thine own Anemone!--
    Thirsty Arum, ever dreaming
    Of lakes in wildernesses gleaming!--
    Fire-winged Pimpernel,
    Communing with some hidden well,
    And secrets with the sun-god holding,
    At fixed hour folding and unfolding!--
    How ...

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 Sleepless Jesus

    'Tis time to sleep, my little boy:
        Why gaze thy bright eyes so?
    At night our children, for new joy
        Home to thy father go,
    But thou art wakeful! Sleep, my child;
        The moon and stars are gone;
    The wind is up and raving wild,
        But thou art smiling on!

    My child, thou hast immortal eyes
        That see by their own light;
    They see the children's blood--it lies
        Red-glowing through the night!
    Thou hast an ever-open ear
        For sob or cry or moan:
    Thou seemest not to see or hear,
        Thou only smilest on!

    When first thou camest to the earth,
        All sounds of strife were still;
    A silence lay about thy birth,
        And thou didst sleep thy fill:
...

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