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

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

Translations. - Part Ii. Sonnet Lxxv. (From Petrarch.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Diary Of An Old Soul. - August.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Word Of God

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Smoke

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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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;
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0 Lord, How Happy!

From the German of Dessler.

O Lord, how happy is the time
    When in thy love I rest!
When from my weariness I climb
    Even to thy tender breast!
The night of sorrow endeth there--
    Thou art brighter than the sun;
And in thy pardon and thy care
    The heaven of heaven is won.

Let the world call herself my foe,
    Or let the world allure--
I care not for the world; I go
    To this dear friend and sure.
And when life's fiercest storms are sent
    Upon life's wildest sea,
My little bark is confident
    Because it holds by thee.

When the law threatens endless death
    Upon the dreadful hill,
Straightway from her consuming breath
    My soul goeth higher still--
Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain,
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A Dream Song

    I dreamed of a song--I heard it sung;
    In the ear of my soul its strange notes rung.
    What were its words I could not tell,
    Only the voice I heard right well,
    For its tones unearthly my spirit bound
    In a calm delirium of mystic sound--
    Held me floating, alone and high,
    Placeless and silent, drinking my fill
    Of dews that from cloudless skies distil
    On desert places that thirst and sigh.
    'Twas a woman's voice, deep calling to deep,
    Rousing old echoes that all day sleep
    In cavern and solitude, each apart,
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    A voice with a wild melodious cry
    Reaching and longing afar and high.
    Sorrowful triumph, and hopeful strife,
    Gainful death, and new-born life,
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Sabbath Bells

Oh holy Sabbath bells,
Ye have a pleasant voice!
Through all the land your music swells,
And man with one commandment tells
To rest and to rejoice.

As birds rejoice to flee
From dark and stormy skies
To brighter lands beyond the sea
Where skies are calm, and wings are free
To wander and to rise;

As thirsty travellers sing,
Through desert paths that pass,
To hear the welcome waters spring,
And see, beyond the spray they fling
Tall trees and waving grass;

So we rejoice to know
Your melody begun;
For when our paths are parched below
Ye tell us where green pastures glow
And living waters run.

LONDON, December 15, 1840.

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An Old Story

    In the ancient house of ages,
        See, they cannot rest!
    With a hope, which awe assuages,
        Tremble all the blest.
    For the son and heir eternal,
        To be son yet more,
    Leaves his stately chair supernal
        For the earth's low floor;

    Leaves the room so high and old,
        Leaves the all-world hearth,
    Seeks the out-air, frosty-cold,
        Of the twilight earth--
    To be throned in newer glory
        In a mother's lap,
    Gather up our broken story,
        And right every hap.


II.

    There Earth's foster-baby lies,
        Sleep-dimmed all his graces,
    'Neath four stars of parents' eyes,
        And two heavens of faces!
    See! the cow and ass, dumb-staring,...

George MacDonald

God; Not Gift

    Gray clouds my heaven have covered o'er;
        My sea ebbs fast, no more to flow;
    Ghastly and dry, my desert shore
        Parched, bare, unsightly things doth show.

    'Tis thou, Lord, cloudest up my sky;
        Stillest the heart-throb of my sea;
    Tellest the sad wind not to sigh,
        Yea, life itself to wait for thee!

    Lord, here I am, empty enough!
        My music but a soundless moan!
    Blind hope, of all my household stuff,
        Leaves me, blind hope, not quite alone!

    Shall hope too go, that I may trust
        Purely in thee, and spite of all?
    Then turn my very heart to dust--
        On thee, on thee, I yet will call.

    List! list! his wind among the pines
        Hark! hark! that rushi...

George MacDonald