Song-Sermon.

Lord, what is man
That thou art mindful of him!
Though in creation's van,
Lord, what is man!
He wills less than he can,
Lets his ideal scoff him!
Lord, what is man
That thou art mindful of him!

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

Awake!

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Oh Thou Of Little Faith!

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

A Song In The Night.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

To A February Primrose

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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Song-Sermon

Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs,
For as his work thou giv'st the man.
From us, not thee, come all our wrongs;
Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs:
With small-cord whips and scorpion thongs
Thou lay'st on every ill thy ban.
Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs,
For as his work thou giv'st the man.

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

The Man Of Songs.

"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams,
    O man of many songs!
To thee what is, but looks and seems;
    No realm to thee belongs!"

"Seest thou those mountains, faint and far,
    O spirit caged and tame?"
"Blue clouds like distant hills they are,
    And like is not the same."

"Nay, nay; I know each mountain well,
    Each cliff, and peak, and dome!
In that cloudland, in one high dell,
    Nesteth my little home."

George MacDonald

The Human.

Within each living man there doth reside,
In some unrifled chamber of the heart,
A hidden treasure: wayward as thou art
I love thee, man, and bind thee to my side!
By that sweet act I purify my pride
And hasten onward--willing even to part
With pleasant graces: though thy hue is swart,
I bear thee company, thou art my guide!
Even in thy sinning wise beyond thy ken
To thee a subtle debt my soul is owing!
I take an impulse from the worst of men
That lends a wing unto my onward going;
Then let me pay them gladly back again
With prayer and love from Faith and Duty flowing!

George MacDonald

Morning Hymn

    O Lord of life, thy quickening voice
        Awakes my morning song!
    In gladsome words I would rejoice
        That I to thee belong.

    I see thy light, I feel thy wind;
        The world, it is thy word;
    Whatever wakes my heart and mind,
        Thy presence is, my Lord.

    The living soul which I call me
        Doth love, and long to know;
    It is a thought of living thee,
        Nor forth of thee can go.

    Therefore I choose my highest part,
        And turn my face to thee;
    Therefore I stir my inmost heart
        To worship fervently.

    Lord, let me live and will this day--
        Keep rising from the dead;
    Lord, make my spirit good and gay--
        Give me my daily bread.

...

George MacDonald

A Song-Sermon:

Job xiv. 13-15.

RONDEL.

Would that thou hid me in the grave
And kept me with death's gaoler-care;
Until thy wrath away should wear
A sentence fixed thy prisoner gave!
I would endure with patience brave
So thou remembered I was there!
Would that thou hid me in the grave,
And kept me with death's gaoler-care!

To see thy creature thou wouldst crave--
Desire thy handiwork so fair;
Then wouldst thou call through death's dank air
And I would answer from the cave!
Would that thou hid me in the grave,
And kept me with death's gaoler-care!

George MacDonald