Rondel

Heart, thou must learn to do without--
    That is the riches of the poor,
    Their liberty is to endure;
Wrap thou thine old cloak thee about,
And carol loud and carol stout;
    Let thy rags fly, nor wish them fewer;
Thou too must learn to do without,
    Must earn the riches of the poor!

Why should'st thou only wear no clout?
    Thou only walk in love-robes pure?
    Why should thy step alone be sure?
Thou only free of fortune's flout?
Nay, nay! but learn to go without,
    And so be humbly, richly poor.

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

On The Source Of The Arve

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Hills.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - Longing. (From Schiller.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - Lieder. (From Heine.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

A Lown Nicht

Rose o' my hert,
    Open yer leaves to the lampin mune;
Into the curls lat her keek an' dert,
    She'll tak the colour but gie ye tune.

Buik o' my brain,
    Open yer faulds to the starry signs;
Lat the e'en o' the holy luik an' strain,
    Lat them glimmer an' score atween the lines.

Cup o' my soul,
    Goud an' diamond an' ruby cup,
Ye're noucht ava but a toom dry bowl
    Till the wine o' the kingdom fill ye up.

Conscience-glass,
    Mirror the en'less All in thee;
Melt the boundered and make it pass
    Into the tideless, shoreless sea.

Warl o' my life,
    Swing thee roun thy sunny track;
Fire an' win' an' water an' strife,
    Carry them a' to the glory back.

George MacDonald

Rondel

I do not know thy final will,
    It is too good for me to know:
    Thou willest that I mercy show,
That I take heed and do no ill,
That I the needy warm and fill,
    Nor stones at any sinner throw;
But I know not thy final will--
    It is too good for me to know.

I know thy love unspeakable--
    For love's sake able to send woe!
    To find thine own thou lost didst go,
And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!--
How should I know thy final will,
    Godwise too good for me to know!

George MacDonald

Rondel

    I follow, tottering, in the funeral train
    That bears my body to the welcoming grave.
    As those I mourn not, that entomb the brave,
    But smile as those that lay aside the vain;

    To me it is a thing of poor disdain,
        A clod I would not give a sigh to save!
    I follow, careless, in the funeral train,
        My outworn raiment to the cleansing grave.

    I follow to the grave with growing pain--
        Then sudden cry: Let Earth take what she gave!
        And turn in gladness from the yawning cave--
    Glad even for those whose tears yet flow amain:
    They also follow, in their funeral train,
        Outworn necessities to the welcoming grave!

George MacDonald

How Shall He Sing Who Hath No Song

    How shall he sing who hath no song?
    He laugh who hath no mirth?
    Will cannot wake the sleeping song!
    Yea, Love itself in vain may long
    To sing with them that have a song,
    Or, mirthless, laugh with Mirth!
    He who would sing but hath no song
    Must speak the right, denounce the wrong,
    Must humbly front the indignant throng,
    Must yield his back to Satire's thong,
    Nor shield his face from liar's prong,
    Must say and do and be the truth,
    And fearless wait for what ensueth,
    Wait, wait, with patience sweet and strong,
    Until God's glory fill the earth;
    Then shall he sing who had no song,
    He laugh who had no mirth!

    Yea, if in land of stony dearth
    Like barren rock thou sit,
    R...

George MacDonald

Song

She loves thee, loves thee not!
That, that is all, my heart.
Why should she take a part
In every selfish blot,
In every greedy spot
That now doth ache and smart
Because she loves thee not--
Not, not at all, poor heart!

Thou art no such dove-cot
Of virtues--no such chart
Of highways, though the dart
Of love be through thee shot!
Why should she not love not
Thee, poor, pinched, selfish heart?

George MacDonald

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
    And in hard q...

George MacDonald