Heart of God

    O great heart of God,
    Once vague and lost to me,
    Why do I throb with your throb to-night,
    In this land, eternity?

    O little heart of God,
    Sweet intruding stranger,
    You are laughing in my human breast,
    A Christ-child in a manger.

    Heart, dear heart of God,
    Beside you now I kneel,
    Strong heart of faith.    O heart not mine,
    Where God has set His seal.

    Wild thundering heart of God
    Out of my doubt I come,
    And my foolish feet with prophets' feet,
    March with the prophets' drum.

Vachel Lindsay

Vachel Lindsay was an American poet known for his innovative performances of his poetry, which combined spoken word with music and theatrics. Born in Springfield, Illinois, Lindsay's work often revolved around American history and culture, reflecting his progressive social views. He played a significant role in the early 20th-century American poetry scene, influencing contemporaries and later poets with his dynamic style and passionate delivery.

Vachel Lindsay

He Nears the Goal

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

To Reformers in Despair

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

A Net to Snare the Moonlight

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Popcorn, Glass Balls, and Cranberries (As it were)

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

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Star of My Heart

    Star of my heart, I follow from afar.
    Sweet Love on high, lead on where shepherds are,
    Where Time is not, and only dreamers are.
    Star from of old, the Magi-Kings are dead
    And a foolish Saxon seeks the manger-bed.
    O lead me to Jehovah's child
    Across this dreamland lone and wild,
    Then will I speak this prayer unsaid,
    And kiss his little haloed head -
    "My star and I, we love thee, little child."

    Except the Christ be born again to-night
    In dreams of all men, saints and sons of shame,
    The world will never see his kingdom bright.
    Stars of all hearts, lead onward thro' the night
    Past death-black deserts, doubts without a name,
    Past hills of pain and mountains of new sin
    To that far sky where my...

Vachel Lindsay

At Mass

    No doubt to-morrow I will hide
    My face from you, my King.
    Let me rejoice this Sunday noon,
    And kneel while gray priests sing.

    It is not wisdom to forget.
    But since it is my fate
    Fill thou my soul with hidden wine
    To make this white hour great.

    My God, my God, this marvelous hour
    I am your son I know.
    Once in a thousand days your voice
    Has laid temptation low.

Vachel Lindsay

Longing

    My heart is full of inarticulate pain,
        And beats laborious. Cold ungenial looks
    Invade my sanctuary. Men of gain,
        Wise in success, well-read in feeble books,
    No nigher come, I pray: your air is drear;
    'Tis winter and low skies when ye appear.

    Beloved, who love beauty and fair truth,
        Come nearer me; too near ye cannot come;
    Make me an atmosphere with your sweet youth;
        Give me your souls to breathe in, a large room;
    Speak not a word, for, see, my spirit lies
    Helpless and dumb; shine on me with your eyes.

    O all wide places, far from feverous towns;
        Great shining seas; pine forests; mountains wild;
    Rock-bosomed shores; rough heaths, and sheep-cropt downs;
        Vast pallid clo...

George MacDonald

The Diary Of An Old Soul. - May.

        1.

        WHAT though my words glance sideways from the thing
        Which I would utter in thine ear, my sire!
        Truth in the inward parts thou dost desire--
        Wise hunger, not a fitness fine of speech:
        The little child that clamouring fails to reach
        With upstretched hand the fringe of her attire,
        Yet meets the mother's hand down hurrying.

        2.

        Even when their foolish words they turned on him,
        He did not his disciples send away;
        He knew their hearts were foolish, eyes were dim,
        And therefore by his side needs must they stay.
        Thou will not, Lord, send me away from thee.
        When I am foolish, make thy cock crow grim;
        If that is not enough, turn,...

George MacDonald

The Beggar's Valentine

    Kiss me and comfort my heart
    Maiden honest and fine.
    I am the pilgrim boy
    Lame, but hunting the shrine;

    Fleeing away from the sweets,
    Seeking the dust and rain,
    Sworn to the staff and road,
    Scorning pleasure and pain;

    Nevertheless my mouth
    Would rest like a bird an hour
    And find in your curls a nest
    And find in your breast a bower:

    Nevertheless my eyes
    Would lose themselves in your own,
    Rivers that seek the sea,
    Angels before the throne:

    Kiss me and comfort my heart,
    For love can never be mine:
    Passion, hunger and pain,
    These are the only wine

    Of the pilgrim bound to the road.
    He would rob no man of his own.
    Yo...

Vachel Lindsay

The Over-Heart

Above, below, in sky and sod,
In leaf and spar, in star and man,
Well might the wise Athenian scan
The geometric signs of God,
The measured order of His plan.

And India's mystics sang aright
Of the One Life pervading all,
One Being's tidal rise and fall
In soul and form, in sound and sight,
Eternal outflow and recall.

God is: and man in guilt and fear
The central fact of Nature owns;
Kneels, trembling, by his altar-stones,
And darkly dreams the ghastly smear
Of blood appeases and atones.

Guilt shapes the Terror: deep within
The human heart the secret lies
Of all the hideous deities;
And, painted on a ground of sin,
The fabled gods of torment rise!

And what is He? The ripe grain nods,
The sweet dews fall, the swe...

John Greenleaf Whittier