Waiting

Lie, little cow, and chew thy cud,
    The farmer soon will shift thy tether;
Chirp, linnet, on the frozen mud,
    Sun and song will come together;
Wait, soul, for God, and thou shalt bud,
    He waits thy waiting with his weather.

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. - Milton's Italian Poems. Iii. Canzone.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - The Tryst. (From Schiller.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Light

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - A Song Of The Little Child Jesus, For Children At Christmas. Taken Out Of The Second Chapter Of The Gospel Of St. Luke. (Luther's Song-Book.)

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.

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

Song Of The Waiting Dead

With us there is no gray fearing,
With us no aching for lack!
For the morn it is always nearing,
And the night is at our back.
At times a song will fall dumb,
A thought-bell burst in a sigh,
But no one says, "He will not come!"
She says, "He is almost nigh!"

The thing you call a sorrow
Is our delight on its way:
We know that the coming morrow
Comes on the wheels of to-day!
Our Past is a child asleep;
Delay is ripening the kiss;
The rising tear we will not weep
Until it flow for bliss.

George MacDonald

The Waiting Soul.

Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord,
And cheer me from the north;
Blow on the treasures of thy word,
And call the spices forth!


I wish, thou knowst, to be resignd,
And wait with patient hope;
But hope delayd fatigues the mind,
And drinks the spirit up.


Help me to reach the distant goal,
Confirm my feeble knee;
Pity the sickness of a soul
That faints for love of thee.


Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
Yet, since I feel it so,
It yields some hope of life divine
Within, however low.


I seem forsaken and alone,
I hear the lion roar;
And evry door is shut but one,
And that is mercys door.


There, till the dear Delivrer come,
Ill wait with humble prayr;
An when he call...

William Cowper

Quiet Dead!

Quiet, quiet dead,
Have ye aught to say
From your hidden bed
In the earthy clay?

Fathers, children, mothers,
Ye are very quiet;
Can ye shout, my brothers?
I would know you by it!

Have ye any words
That are like to ours?
Have ye any birds?
Have ye any flowers?

Could ye rise a minute
When the sun is warm?
I would know you in it,
I would take no harm.

I am half afraid
In the ghostly night;
If ye all obeyed
I should fear you quite.

But when day is breaking
In the purple east
I would meet you waking--
One of you at least--

When the sun is tipping
Every stony block,
And the sun is slipping
Down the weathercock.

Quiet, quiet dead,
I will not perplex you;
Wh...

George MacDonald

To G. M. T

    The sun is sinking in the west,
    Long grow the shadows dim;
    Have patience, sister, to be blest,
    Wait patiently for Him.

    Thou knowest love, much love hast had,
    Great things of love mayst tell,
    Ought'st never to be very sad
    For thou too hast lov'd well.

    His house thou know'st, who on the brink
    Of death loved more than thou,
    Loved more than thy great heart can think,
    And just as then loves now--

    In that great house is one who waits
    For thy slow-coming foot;
    Glad is he with his angel-mates
    Yet often listens mute,

    For he of all men loves thee best:
    He haunts the heavenly clock;
    Ah, he has long been up and drest
    To open to thy knock!

    F...

George MacDonald

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