Master And Boy.

"WHO is this little one lying,"
    Said Time, "at my garden-gate,
Moaning and sobbing and crying,
    Out in the cold so late?"

"They lurked until we came near,
    Master and I," the child said,
"Then caught me, with 'Welcome, New-year!
    Happy Year! Golden-head!'

"See Christmas-day, my Master,
    On the meadow a mile away!
Father Time, make me run faster!
    I'm the Shadow of Christmas-day!"

"Run, my child; still he's in sight!
    Only look well to his track;
Little Shadow, run like the light,
    He misses you at his back!"

Old Time sat down in the sun
    On a grave-stone--his legs were numb:
"When the boy to his master has run,"
    He said, "Heaven's New Year is come!"

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

What Man Is There Of You?

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - Die Nordsee (From Heine.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Rondel

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Thou Also

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Christmas, 1873

    Christmas-Days are still in store:--
        Will they change--steal faded hither?
    Or come fresh as heretofore,
        Summering all our winter weather?

    Surely they will keep their bloom
        All the countless pacing ages:
    In the country whence they come
        Children only are the sages!

    Hither, every hour and year,
        Children come to cure our oldness--
    Oft, alas, to gather sear
        Unbelief, and earthy boldness!

    Men they grow and women cold,
        Selfish, passionate, and plaining!
    Ever faster they grow old:--
        On the world, ah, eld is gaining!

    Child, whose childhood ne'er departs!
        Jesus, with the perfect father!
    Drive the age from parents' hearts;

George MacDonald

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.
        Thaw th...

George MacDonald

Songs Of The Winter Nights

    I.

    Back shining from the pane, the fire
    Seems outside in the snow:
    So love set free from love's desire
    Lights grief of long ago.

    The dark is thinned with snow-sheen fine,
    The earth bedecked with moon;
    Out on the worlds we surely shine
    More radiant than in June!

    In the white garden lies a heap
    As brown as deep-dug mould:
    A hundred partridges that keep
    Each other from the cold.

    My father gives them sheaves of corn,
    For shelter both and food:
    High hope in me was early born,
    My father was so good.


    II.

    The frost weaves ferns and sultry palms
    Across my clouded pane;
    Weaves melodies of ancient psalms
    All through my...

George MacDonald

Songs Of The Winter Days

    I.

    The sky has turned its heart away,
    The earth its sorrow found;
    The daisies turn from childhood's play,
    And creep into the ground.

    The earth is black and cold and hard;
    Thin films of dry white ice,
    Across the rugged wheel-tracks barred,
    The children's feet entice.

    Dark flows the stream, as if it mourned
    The winter in the land;
    With idle icicles adorned,
    That mill-wheel soon will stand.

    But, friends, to say 'tis cold, and part,
    Is to let in the cold;
    We'll make a summer of the heart,
    And laugh at winter old.


    II.

    With vague dead gleam the morning white
    Comes through the window-panes;
    The clouds have fallen all the ni...

George MacDonald

New Year's Eve: A Waking Dream

I have not any fearful tale to tell
Of fabled giant or of dragon-claw,
Or bloody deed to pilfer and to sell
To those who feed, with such, a gaping maw;
But what in yonder hamlet there befell,
Or rather what in it my fancy saw,
I will declare, albeit it may seem
Too simple and too common for a dream.

Two brothers were they, and they sat alone
Without a word, beside the winter's glow;
For it was many years since they had known
The love that bindeth brothers, till the snow
Of age had frozen it, and it had grown
An icy-withered stream that would not flow;
And so they sat with warmth about their feet
And ice about their hearts that would not beat.

And yet it was a night for quiet hope:--
A night the very last of all the year
To many a youthful...

George MacDonald

The Shadows

    My little boy, with smooth, fair cheeks,
    And dreamy, large, brown eyes,
    Not often, little wisehead, speaks,
    But hearing, weighs and tries.

    "God is not only in the sky,"
    His sister said one day--
    Not older much, but she would cry
    Like Wisdom in the way--

    "He's in this room." His dreamy, clear,
    Large eyes look round for God:
    In vain they search, in vain they peer;
    His wits are all abroad!

    "He is not here, mamma? No, no;
    I do not see him at all!
    He's not the shadows, is he?" So
    His doubtful accents fall--

    Fall on my heart, no babble mere!
    They rouse both love and shame:
    But for earth's loneliness and fear,
    I might be saying the same!

 ...

George MacDonald