Hom. Il. V. 403.

If thou art tempted by a thought of ill,
Crave not too soon for victory, nor deem
Thou art a coward if thy safety seem
To spring too little from a righteous will;
For there is nightmare on thee, nor until
Thy soul hath caught the morning's early gleam
Seek thou to analyze the monstrous dream
By painful introversion; rather fill
Thine eye with forms thou knowest to be truth;
But see thou cherish higher hope than this,--
hope hereafter that thou shall be fit
Calm-eyed to face distortion, and to sit
Transparent among other forms of youth
Who own no impulse save to God and bliss.

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

My Eyes Make Pictures.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Who Lights The Fire?

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Songs Of The Winter Days

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

O Wind Of God.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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Death.

When, like a garment flung aside at night,
This body lies, or sculpture of cold rest;
When through its shaded windows comes no light,
And the white hands are folded on its breast;

How will it be with Me, its tenant now?
How shall I feel when first I wander out?
How look on tears from loved eyes falling? How
Look forth upon dim mysteries round about?

Shall I go forth, slow-floating like a mist,
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After Thomas Kempis

    I.

    Who follows Jesus shall not walk
    In darksome road with danger rife;
    But in his heart the Truth will talk,
    And on his way will shine the Life.

    So, on the story we must pore
    Of him who lives for us, and died,
    That we may see him walk before,
    And know the Father in the guide.


    II.

    In words of truth Christ all excels,
    Leaves all his holy ones behind;
    And he in whom his spirit dwells
    Their hidden manna sure shall find.

    Gather wouldst thou the perfect grains,
    And Jesus fully understand?
    Thou must obey him with huge pains,
    And to God's will be as Christ's hand.


    III.

    What profits it to reason high
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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

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,
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Doubt Heralding Vision.

An angel saw me sitting by a brook,
Pleased with the silence, and the melodies
Of wind and water which did fall and rise:
He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook
An outworn doubt, which fell on me and took
The shape of darkness, hiding all the skies,
Blinding the sun, but giving to my eyes
An inextinguishable wish to look;
When, lo! thick as the buds of spring there came,
Crowd upon crowd, informing all the sky,
A host of splendours watching silently,
With lustrous eyes that wept as if in blame,
And waving hands that crossed in lines of flame,
And signalled things I hope to hold although I die!

George MacDonald

Death

    When in the bosom of the eldest night
    This body lies, cold as a sculptured rest;
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    And its pale hands are folded on its breast--

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    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;
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    Seeking the mountain and the lonely heath?

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    Descending, hide them from the spirit's sight;
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