Love Is Strength

Love alone is great in might,
Makes the heavy burden light,
Smooths rough ways to weary feet,
Makes the bitter morsel sweet:
Love alone is strength!

Might that is not born of Love
Is not Might born from above,
Has its birthplace down below
Where they neither reap nor sow:
Love alone is strength!

Love is stronger than all force,
Is its own eternal source;
Might is always in decay,
Love grows fresher every day:
Love alone is strength!

Little ones, no ill can chance;
Fear ye not, but sing and dance;
Though the high-heaved heaven should fall
God is plenty for us all:
God is Love and Strength!

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

Song

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Journey.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Evening Hymn

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Love's History

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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Love Is Home

    Love is the part, and love is the whole;
    Love is the robe, and love is the pall;
    Ruler of heart and brain and soul,
    Love is the lord and the slave of all!
    I thank thee, Love, that thou lov'st me;
    I thank thee more that I love thee.

    Love is the rain, and love is the air,
    Love is the earth that holdeth fast;
    Love is the root that is buried there,
    Love is the open flower at last!
    I thank thee, Love all round about,
    That the eyes of my love are looking out.

    Love is the sun, and love is the sea;
    Love is the tide that comes and goes;
    Flowing and flowing it comes to me;
    Ebbing and ebbing to thee it flows!
    Oh my sun, and my wind, and tide!
    My sea, and my shore, and all beside!

George MacDonald

Lessons For A Child.

I.

There breathes not a breath of the morning air,
But the spirit of Love is moving there;
Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree
Mingles with thousands in harmony;
But the Spirit of God doth make the sound,
And the thoughts of the insect that creepeth around.
And the sunshiny butterflies come and go,
Like beautiful thoughts moving to and fro;
And not a wave of their busy wings
Is unknown to the Spirit that moveth all things.
And the long-mantled moths, that sleep at noon,
And dance in the light of the mystic moon--
All have one being that loves them all;
Not a fly in the spider's web can fall,
But He cares for the spider, and cares for the fly;
And He cares for each little child's smile or sigh.
How it can be, I cannot know;
He is wiser than...

George MacDonald

Better Things

Better to smell a violet,
Than sip the careless wine;
Better to list one music tone,
Than watch the jewels' shine.

Better to have the love of one,
Than smiles like morning dew;
Better to have a living seed
Than flowers of every hue.

Better to feel a love within,
Than be lovely to the sight;
Better a homely tenderness
Than beauty's wild delight.

Better to love than be beloved.
Though lonely all the day;
Better the fountain in the heart,
Than the fountain by the way.

Better a feeble love to God,
Than for woman's love to pine;
Better to have the making God
Than the woman made divine.

Better be fed by mother's hand,
Than eat alone at will;
Better to trust in God, than say:
My goods my storehouse fill...

George MacDonald

Power.

Power that is not of God, however great,
Is but the downward rushing and the glare
Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share
In the one impulse which doth animate
The parent mass: emblem to me of fate!
Which through vast nightly wastes doth onward fare,
Wild-eyed and headlong, rent away from prayer--
A moment brilliant, then most desolate!
And, O my brothers, shall we ever learn
From all the things we see continually
That pride is but the empty mockery
Of what is strong in man! Not so the stern
And sweet repose of soul which we can earn
Only through reverence and humility!

George MacDonald

Love's History

Love, the baby,
    Crept abroad to pluck a flower:
One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe;
    One said, Wait the hour.

Love, the boy,
    Joined the youngsters at their play:
But they gave him little joy,
    And he went away.

Love, the youth,
    Roamed the country, quiver-laden;
From him fled away in sooth
    Many a man and maiden!

Love, the man,
    Sought a service all about;
But they called him feeble, one
    They could do without.

Love, the aged,
    Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles,
Read a volume many-paged,
    Full of tears and smiles.

Love, the weary,
    Tottered down the shelving road:
At its foot, lo, Night, the starry,
    Meeting him from God!

"Love, the holy,"
...

George MacDonald

Sunday

DECEMBER 28, 1879.

A dim, vague shrinking haunts my soul,
    My spirit bodeth ill--
As some far-off restraining bank
Had burst, and waters, many a rank,
    Were marching on my hill;

As if I had no fire within
    For thoughts to sit about;
As if I had no flax to spin,
No lamp to lure the good things in
    And keep the bad things out.

The wind, south-west, raves in the pines
    That guard my cottage round;
The sea-waves fall in stormy lines
Below the sandy cliffs and chines,
    And swell the roaring sound.

The misty air, the bellowing wind
    Not often trouble me;
The storm that's outside of the mind
Doth oftener wake my heart to find
    More peace and liberty.

Why is not such my fate to-night?
...

George MacDonald