Song Of The Innocents

    Merry, merry we well may be,
    For Jesus Christ is come down to see:
    Long before, at the top of the stair,
    He set our angels a waiting there,
    Waiting hither and thither to fly,
    Tending the children of the sky,
    Lest they dash little feet against big stones,
    And tumble down and break little bones;
    For the path is rough, and we must not roam;
    We have learned to walk, and must follow him home!

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

A Prayer

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Rejoice

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - Die Heimkehr. (From Heine.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Cleaning The Windows.

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.

Song Of The Saints And Angels

JANUARY 26, 1885.


    Gordon, the self-refusing,
    Gordon, the lover of God,
    Gordon, the good part choosing,
    Welcome along the road!

    Thou knowest the man, O Father!
    To do thy will he ran;
    Men's praises he did not gather:
    There is scarce such another man!

    Thy black sheep's faithful shepherd
    Who knew not how to flee,
    Is torn by the desert leopard,
    And comes wounded home to thee!

    Home he is coming the faster
    That the way he could not miss:
    In thy arms, oh take him, Master,
    And heal him with a kiss!

    Then give him a thousand cities
    To rule till their evils cease,
    And their wailing minor ditties
    Die in a psalm of peace.

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

A Song For Christmas

    Hark, in the steeple the dull bell swinging
        Over the furrows ill ploughed by Death!
    Hark the bird-babble, the loud lark singing!
        Hark, from the sky, what the prophet saith!

    Hark, in the pines, the free Wind, complaining--
        Moaning, and murmuring, "Life is bare!"
    Hark, in the organ, the caught Wind, outstraining,
        Jubilant rise in a soaring prayer!

    Toll for the burying, sexton tolling!
        Sing for the second birth, angel Lark!
    Moan, ye poor Pines, with the Past condoling!
        Burst out, brave Organ, and kill the Dark!


II.

    Sit on the ground, and immure thy sorrow;
        I will give freedom to mine in song!
    Haunt thou the tomb, and deny the morrow;
        I wil...

George MacDonald

The Christmas Child

"Little one, who straight hast come
Down the heavenly stair,
Tell us all about your home,
And the father there."

"He is such a one as I,
Like as like can be.
Do his will, and, by and by,
Home and him you'll see."

George MacDonald

A Christmas Carol For 1862

THE YEAR OF THE TROUBLE IN LANCASHIRE.

    The skies are pale, the trees are stiff,
        The earth is dull and old;
    The frost is glittering as if
        The very sun were cold.
    And hunger fell is joined with frost,
        To make men thin and wan:
    Come, babe, from heaven, or we are lost;
        Be born, O child of man.

    The children cry, the women shake,
        The strong men stare about;
    They sleep when they should be awake,
        They wake ere night is out.
    For they have lost their heritage--
        No sweat is on their brow:
    Come, babe, and bring them work and wage;
        Be born, and save us now.

    Across the sea, beyond our sight,
        Roars on the fierce debate;
    The men go d...

George MacDonald

Christmas, 1884

    Though in my heart no Christmas glee,
        Though my song-bird be dumb,
    Jesus, it is enough for me
        That thou art come.

    What though the loved be scattered far,
        Few at the board appear,
    In thee, O Lord, they gathered are,
        And thou art here.

    And if our hearts be low with lack,
        They are not therefore numb;
    Not always will thy day come back--
        Thyself will come!

George MacDonald