The Goal

In God alone, the perfect end,
Wilt thou find thyself or friend.

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

Songs Of The Autumn Nights

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Spring Song

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

An Evening Prayer

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

This World

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.

God In Growth.

I said, I will arise and work some thing,
Nor be content with growth, but cause to grow
A life around me, clear as yes from no,
That to my restless hand some rest may bring,
And give a vital power to Action's spring:
Thus, I must cease to be! I cried; when, lo!
An angel stood beside me on the snow,
With folded wings that came of pondering.
"God's glory flashes on the silence here
Beneath the moon," he cried, and upward threw
His glorious eyes that swept the utmost blue,
"Ere yet his bounding brooks run forth with cheer
To bear his message to the hidden year
Who cometh up in haste to make his glory new."

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

To My Lord And Master

Imagination cannot rise above thee;
Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee;
My misery away from me I thrust it,
For thy perfection I behold, and trust it.

George MacDonald

This World

    Thy world is made to fit thine own,
    A nursery for thy children small,
    The playground-footstool of thy throne,
    Thy solemn school-room, Father of all!
    When day is done, in twilight's gloom,
    We pass into thy presence-room.

    Because from selfishness and wrath,
    Our cold and hot extremes of ill,
    We grope and stagger on the path--
    Thou tell'st us from thy holy hill,
    With icy storms and sunshine rude,
    That we are all unripe in good.

    Because of snaky things that creep
    Through our soul's sea, dim-undulant,
    Thou fill'st the mystery of thy deep
    With faces heartless, grim, and gaunt;
    That we may know how ugly seem
    The things our spirit-oceans teem.

    Because of half-way thi...

George MacDonald

Approaches

When thou turn'st away from ill,
Christ is this side of thy hill.

When thou turnest toward good,
Christ is walking in thy wood.

When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!"
Then the Lord is in thy garden.

When stern Duty wakes to watch,
Then his hand is on the latch.

But when Hope thy song doth rouse,
Then the Lord is in the house.

When to love is all thy wit,
Christ doth at thy table sit.

When God's will is thy heart's pole,
Then is Christ thy very soul.

George MacDonald

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,
    A...

George MacDonald