The Home Of Death

"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?"
"I bide in ilka breath,"
Quo' Death;
"No i' the pyramids,
No whaur the wormie rids
'Neth coffin-lids;
I bidena whaur life has been,
An' whaur's nae mair to be dune."

"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?"
"Wi' the leevin, to dee 'at are laith,"
Quo' Death;
"Wi' the man an' the wife
'At loo like life,
Bot strife;
Wi' the bairns 'at hing to their mither,
Wi' a' 'at loo ane anither."

"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?"
"Abune an' aboot an' aneth,"
Quo' Death;
"But o' a' the airts
An' o' a' the pairts,
In herts--
Whan the tane to the tither says, Na,
An' the north win' begins to blaw."

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. - A Children'S Song, To Sing Against The Two Archenemies Of Christ And His Holy Church, The Pope And The Turks. (Luther's Song-Book.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Baby.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Watcher

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

A Baby-Sermon

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.

Death

    When in the bosom of the eldest night
    This body lies, cold as a sculptured rest;
    When through its shaded windows comes no light,
    And its pale hands are folded on its breast--

        How shall I fare, who had to wander out,
    And of the unknown land the frontier cross,
    Peering vague-eyed, uncertain, all about,
    Unclothed, mayhap unwelcomed, bathed in loss?

        Shall I depart slow-floating like a mist,
    Over the city murmuring beneath;
    Over the trees and fields, where'er I list,
    Seeking the mountain and the lonely heath?

        Or will a darkness, o'er material shows
    Descending, hide them from the spirit's sight;
    As from the sun a blotting radiance flows
    Athwart the stars all glorious through the...

George MacDonald

The Auld Man's Prayer

Lord, I'm an auld man,
    An' I'm deein!
An' do what I can
    I canna help bein
Some feart at the thoucht!
I'm no what I oucht!
An' thou art sae gran',
Me but an auld man!

I haena gotten muckle
    Guid o' the warld;
Though siller a puckle
    Thegither I hae harlt,
Noo I maun be rid o' 't,
The ill an' the guid o' 't!
An' I wud--I s' no back frae 't--
Rather put til 't nor tak frae 't!

It's a pity a body
    Coudna haud on here,
Puttin cloddy to cloddy
    Till he had a bit lan' here!--
But eh I'm forgettin
Whaur the tide's settin!
It'll pusion my prayer
Till it's no worth a hair!

It's awfu, it's awfu
    To think 'at I'm gaein
Whaur a' 's ower wi' the lawfu,
    Whaur's an en' til a' h...

George MacDonald

Time And Tide

    As I was walkin on the strand,
        I spied ane auld man sit
    On ane auld black rock; and aye the waves
        Cam washin up its fit.
    His lips they gaed as gien they wad lilt,
        But o' liltin, wae's me, was nane!
    He spak but an owercome, dreary and dreigh,
        A burden wha's sang was gane:
"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns;
    They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush:
Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns,
    And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush."

    "What can the auld man mean," quod I,
        "Sittin o' the auld black rock?
    The tide creeps up wi' a moan and a cry,
        And a hiss 'maist like a mock!
    The words he mutters maun be the en'
        O' some weary auld-warl' sang--
   ...

George MacDonald

A Dead House.

When the clock hath ceased to tick
    Soul-like in the gloomy hall;
When the latch no more doth click
    Tongue-like in the red peach-wall;
When no more come sounds of play,
    Mice nor children romping roam,
Then looks down the eye of day
    On a dead house, not a home!

But when, like an old sun's ghost,
    Haunts her vault the spectral moon;
When earth's margins all are lost,
    Melting shapes nigh merged in swoon,
Then a sound--hark! there again!--
    No, 'tis not a nibbling mouse!
'Tis a ghost, unseen of men,
    Walking through the bare-floored house!

And with lightning on the stair
    To that silent upper room,
With the thunder-shaken air
    Sudden gleaming into gloom,
With a frost-wind whistling round,
    F...

George MacDonald

The Deil's Forhooit His Ain

                The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain!
                    The Deil's forhooit his ain!
                His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk,
                    For the Deil's forhooit his ain.

The Deil he tuik his stick and his hat,
    And his yallow gluves on he drew:
"The coal's sae dear, and the preachin sae flat.
    And I canna be aye wi' you!"

                The Deil's, &c.

"But I'll gie ye my blessin afore I gang,
    Wi' jist ae word o' advice;
And gien onything efter that gaes wrang
    It'll be yer ain wull and ch'ice!

"Noo hark: There's diseases gaein aboot,
    Whiles are, and whiles a' thegither!
Ane's ca'd Repentance--haith, hand it oot!
    It comes wi' a change o' weather.

"...

George MacDonald

Death

    Mourn not, my friends, that we are growing old:
    A fresher birth brings every new year in.
    Years are Christ's napkins to wipe off the sin.
    See now, I'll be to you an angel bold!
    My plumes are ruffled, and they shake with cold,
    Yet with a trumpet-blast I will begin.
    --Ah, no; your listening ears not thus I win!
    Yet hear, sweet sisters; brothers, be consoled:--
    Behind me comes a shining one indeed;
    Christ's friend, who from life's cross did take him down,
    And set upon his day night's starry crown!
    Death, say'st thou? Nay--thine be no caitiff creed!--
    A woman-angel! see--in long white gown!
    The mother of our youth!--she maketh speed.

George MacDonald