Shew Us The Father

"Shew us the Father." Chiming stars of space,
    And lives that fit the worlds, and means and powers,
    A Thought that holds them up reveal to ours--
A Wisdom we have been made wise to trace.
And, looking out from sweetest Nature's face,
    From sunsets, moonlights, rivers, hills, and flowers,
    Infinite love and beauty, all the hours,
Woo men that love them with divinest grace;
And to the depths of all the answering soul
    High Justice speaks, and calls the world her own;
    And yet we long, and yet we have not known
The very Father's face who means the whole!
    Shew us the Father! Nature, conscience, love
    Revealed in beauty, is there One above?

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

The Consoler - On An Engraving Of Scheffer's Christus Consolator.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Thorn In The Flesh.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Home Of Death

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Lost But Safe

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.

To My Father.

I.

Take of the first fruits, Father, of thy care,
    Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my gratitude
    Late waked for early gifts ill understood;
Claiming in all my harvests rightful share,
Whether with song that mounts the joyful air
    I praise my God; or, in yet deeper mood,
    Sit dumb because I know a speechless good,
Needing no voice, but all the soul for prayer.
    Thou hast been faithful to my highest need;
And I, thy debtor, ever, evermore,
Shall never feel the grateful burden sore.
    Yet most I thank thee, not for any deed,
    But for the sense thy living self did breed
That fatherhood is at the great world's core.


II.

All childhood, reverence clothed thee, undefined,
    As for some being of another race;
    A...

George MacDonald

Christmas, 1880.

Great-hearted child, thy very being The Son,
    Who know'st the hearts of all us prodigals;--
For who is prodigal but he who has gone
    Far from the true to heart it with the false?--
    Who, who but thou, that, from the animals',
        Know'st all the hearts, up to the Father's own,
        Can tell what it would be to be alone!

Alone! No father!--At the very thought
    Thou, the eternal light, wast once aghast;
A death in death for thee it almost wrought!
    But thou didst haste, about to breathe thy last,
    And call'dst out Father ere thy spirit passed,
        Exhausted in fulfilling not any vow,
        But doing his will who greater is than thou.

That we might know him, thou didst come and live;
    That we might find him, ...

George MacDonald

What The Lord Saith

    Trust my father, saith the eldest-born;
    I did trust him ere the earth began;
    Not to know him is to be forlorn;
    Not to love him is--not to be man.

    He that knows him loves him altogether;
    With my father I am so content
    That through all this dreary human weather
    I am working, waiting, confident.

    He is with me; I am not alone;
    Life is bliss, because I am his child;
    Down in Hades will I lay the stone
    Whence shall rise to Heaven his city piled.

    Hearken, brothers, pray you, to my story!
    Hear me, sister; hearken, child, to me:
    Our one father is a perfect glory;
    He is light, and there is none but he.

    Come then with me; I will lead the way;
    All of you, sore-hearted, heav...

George MacDonald

Come To Me

Come to me, come to me, O my God;
    Come to me everywhere!
Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod,
    And the water and the air!

For thou art so far that I often doubt,
    As on every side I stare,
Searching within, and looking without,
    If thou canst be anywhere.

How did men find thee in days of old?
    How did they grow so sure?
They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold,
    They suffered, and kept themselves pure!

But now they say--neither above the sphere
    Nor down in the heart of man,
But solely in fancy, ambition, and fear
    The thought of thee began.

If only that perfect tale were true
    Which ages have not made old,
Which of endless many makes one anew,
    And simplicity manifold!
...

George MacDonald

Dejection

O Father, I am in the dark,
    My soul is heavy-bowed:
I send my prayer up like a lark,
    Up through my vapoury shroud,
                To find thee,
                And remind thee
I am thy child, and thou my father,
Though round me death itself should gather.

Lay thy loved hand upon my head,
    Let thy heart beat in mine;
One thought from thee, when all seems dead,
    Will make the darkness shine
                About me
                And throughout me!
And should again the dull night gather,
I'll cry again, Thou art my father.

George MacDonald

Our Father.

Father! How precious is that name to me!
Name rendered sacred e'en by earthly ties,
How full of vaster meaning when applied
To Him high-dwelling in the heavenly home!
How much of love it whispers to the soul! -
Of that true, pure, and unimpassioned love -
That lasting love which father bears to son!
It speaks of kindly interest, fond regard,
And anxious care, the offspring of that love.
Its sound assures of guidance in the right,
Of readiness to guard from what is ill,
Of willingness to grant supporting aid,
Of gracious blessings and of bounteous gifts.
And then, unlike a father here below,
The heavenly Father's favour and his help
Are unrestricted in their exercise -
His store unbounded, power infinite.
And while an earthly parent soon must go,
He e...

W. M. MacKeracher