Waiting

    I waited for the Master
    In the darkness dumb;
    Light came fast and faster--
    My light did not come!

    I waited all the daylight,
    All through noon's hot flame:
    In the evening's gray light,
    Lo, the Master came!

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 Meditation Of St. Eligius

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Awake!

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

To G. M. T

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Diary Of An Old Soul. - August.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

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Awake!

    The stars are all watching;
    God's angel is catching
At thy skirts in the darkness deep!
    Gold hinges grating,
    The mighty dead waiting,
Why dost thou sleep?

    Years without number,
    Ages of slumber,
Stiff in the track of the infinite One!
    Dead, can I think it?
    Dropt like a trinket,
A thing whose uses are done!

    White wings are crossing,
    Glad waves are tossing,
The earth flames out in crimson and green
    Spring is appearing,
    Summer is nearing--
Where hast thou been?

    Down in some cavern,
    Death's sleepy tavern,
Housing, carousing with spectres of night?
    There is my right hand!
    Grasp it full tight and
Spring to the light.

    Wonder, oh, wonder!<...

George MacDonald

After An Old Legend.

The monk was praying in his cell,
    And he did pray full sore;
He had been praying on his knees
    For two long hours and more.

And in the midst, and suddenly,
    He felt his eyes ope wide;
And he lifted not his head, but saw
    A man's feet him beside.

And almost to his feet there reached
    A garment strangely knit;
Some woman's fingers, ages agone,
    Had trembled, in making it.

The monk's eyes went up the garment,
    Until a hand they spied;
A cut from a chisel was on it,
    And another scar beside.

Then his eyes sprang to the face
    With a single thirsty bound;
'Twas He, and he nigh had fainted;
    His eyes had the Master found.

On his ear fell the convent bell,
    That told him the poor ...

George MacDonald

When The Storm Was Proudest

    When the storm was proudest,
    And the wind was loudest,
I heard the hollow caverns drinking down below;
    When the stars were bright,
    And the ground was white,
I heard the grasses springing underneath the snow.

    Many voices spake--
    The river to the lake,
And the iron-ribbed sky was talking to the sea;
    And every starry spark
    Made music with the dark,
And said how bright and beautiful everything must be.

    When the sun was setting,
    All the clouds were getting
Beautiful and silvery in the rising moon;
    Beneath the leafless trees
    Wrangling in the breeze,
I could hardly see them for the leaves of June.

    When the day had ended,
    And the night descended,
I heard the sound of streams ...

George MacDonald

Coming

When the snow is on the earth
Birds and waters cease their mirth;
When the sunlight is prevailing
Even the night-winds drop their wailing.

On the earth when deep snows lie
Still the sun is in the sky,
And when most we miss his fire
He is ever drawing nigher.

In the darkest winter day
Thou, God, art not far away;
When the nights grow colder, drearer,
Father, thou art coming nearer!

For thee coming I would watch
With my hand upon the latch--
Of the door, I mean, that faces
Out upon the eternal spaces!

George MacDonald

After An Old Legend.

The monk was praying in his cell,
    With bowed head praying sore;
He had been praying on his knees
    For two long hours and more.

As of themselves, all suddenly,
    His eyelids opened wide;
Before him on the ground he saw
    A man's feet close beside;

And almost to the feet came down
    A garment wove throughout;
Such garment he had never seen
    In countries round about!

His eyes he lifted tremblingly
    Until a hand they spied:
A chisel-scar on it he saw,
    And a deep, torn scar beside.

His eyes they leaped up to the face,
    His heart gave one wild bound,
Then stood as if its work were done--
    The Master he had found!

With sudden clang the convent bell
    Told him the poor did wait
...

George MacDonald

Antiphon

    Daylight fades away.
        Is the Lord at hand
    In the shadows gray
        Stealing on the land?

        Gently from the east
            Come the shadows gray;
        But our lowly priest
            Nearer is than they.

    It is darkness quite.
        Is the Lord at hand,
    In the cloak of night
        Stolen upon the land?

        But I see no night,
            For my Lord is here
        With him dark is light,
            With him far is near.

    List! the cock's awake.
        Is the Lord at hand?
    Cometh he to make
        Light in all the land?

        Long ago he made
            Morning in my heart;
        Long ago he bade
            Shadowy things depart.

George MacDonald