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.

December 10, 1824

September 18, 1905

English

George MacDonald

Page 1 of 30

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

A Baby-Sermon

The lightning and thunder
They go and they come:
But the stars and the stillness
Are always at home.

George MacDonald

A Better Thing

I took it for a bird of prey that soared
High over ocean, battled mount, and plain;
'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored
The invisibly obstructing window-pane!

Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve
But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye,
Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve
Thee, little angel of a lower sky!

George MacDonald

A Birthday-Wish

Who know thee, love: thy life be such
    That, ere the year be o'er,
Each one who loves thee now so much,
    Even God, may love thee more!

George MacDonald

A Boy's Grief.

Ah me! in ages far away,
    The good, the heavenly land,
Though unbeheld, quite near them lay,
    And men could understand.

The dead yet find it, who, when here,
    Did love it more than this;
They enter in, are filled with cheer,
    And pain expires in bliss.

Oh, fairly shines the blessed land!
    Ah, God! I weep and pray--
The heart thou holdest in thy hand
    Loves more this sunny day.

I see the hundred thousand wait
    Around the radiant throne:
To me it is a dreary state,
    A crowd of beings lone.

I do not care for singing psalms;
    I tire of good men's talk;
To me there is no joy in palms,
    Or white-robed solemn walk.

I love to hear the wild winds meet,
    The wild old winds at night;<...

George MacDonald

A Broken Prayer

0 Lord, my God, how long
Shall my poor heart pant for a boundless joy?
How long, O mighty Spirit, shall I hear
The murmur of Truth's crystal waters slide
From the deep caverns of their endless being,
But my lips taste not, and the grosser air
Choke each pure inspiration of thy will?

I am a denseness 'twixt me and the light;
1 cannot round myself; my purest thought,
Ere it is thought, hath caught the taint of earth,
And mocked me with hard thoughts beyond my will.

I would be a wind
Whose smallest atom is a viewless wing,
All busy with the pulsing life that throbs
To do thy bidding; yea, or the meanest thing
That has relation to a changeless truth,
Could I but be instinct with thee--each thought
The lightning of a pure intelligence,
And eve...

George MacDonald

A Christmas Carol

    Babe Jesus lay in Mary's lap,
        The sun shone in his hair;
    And this was how she saw, mayhap,
        The crown already there.

    For she sang: "Sleep on, my little king;
        Bad Herod dares not come;
    Before thee sleeping, holy thing,
        The wild winds would be dumb."

    "I kiss thy hands, I kiss thy feet,
        My child, so long desired;
    Thy hands will never be soiled, my sweet;
        Thy feet will never be tired."

    "For thou art the king of men, my son;
        Thy crown I see it plain!
    And men shall worship thee, every one,
        And cry, Glory! Amen!"

    Babe Jesus he opened his eyes wide--
        At Mary looked her lord.
    Mother Mary stinted her song and sighed;
     ...

George MacDonald

A Christmas Carol For 1862

THE YEAR OF THE TROUBLE IN LANCASHIRE.

    The skies are pale, the trees are stiff,
        The earth is dull and old;
    The frost is glittering as if
        The very sun were cold.
    And hunger fell is joined with frost,
        To make men thin and wan:
    Come, babe, from heaven, or we are lost;
        Be born, O child of man.

    The children cry, the women shake,
        The strong men stare about;
    They sleep when they should be awake,
        They wake ere night is out.
    For they have lost their heritage--
        No sweat is on their brow:
    Come, babe, and bring them work and wage;
        Be born, and save us now.

    Across the sea, beyond our sight,
        Roars on the fierce debate;
    The men go d...

George MacDonald

A Christmas Prayer

Loving looks the large-eyed cow,
Loving stares the long-eared ass
At Heaven's glory in the grass!
Child, with added human birth
Come to bring the child of earth
Glad repentance, tearful mirth,
And a seat beside the hearth
At the Father's knee--
Make us peaceful as thy cow;
Make us patient as thine ass;
Make us quiet as thou art now;
Make us strong as thou wilt be.
Make us always know and see
We are his as well as thou.

George MacDonald

A Cry

Lord, hear my discontent: all blank I stand,
A mirror polished by thy hand;
Thy sun's beams flash and flame from me--
I cannot help it: here I stand, there he!
To one of them I cannot say,
Go, and on yonder water play;
Nor one poor ragged daisy can I fashion--
I do not make the words of this my limping passion!
If I should say, Now I will think a thought,
Lo, I must wait, unknowing
What thought in me is growing,
Until the thing to birth be brought!
Nor know I then what next will come
From out the gulf of silence dumb:
I am the door the thing will find
To pass into the general mind!
I cannot say I think--
I only stand upon the thought-well's brink:
From darkness to the sun the water bubbles up--
lift it in my cup.
Thou only thinkest--...

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

A Dream Of Waking

    A child was born in sin and shame,
    Wronged by his very birth,
    Without a home, without a name,
    One over in the earth.

    No wifely triumph he inspired,
    Allayed no husband's fear;
    Intruder bare, whom none desired,
    He had a welcome drear.

    Heaven's beggar, all but turned adrift
    For knocking at earth's gate,
    His mother, like an evil gift,
    Shunned him with sickly hate.

    And now the mistress on her knee
    The unloved baby bore,
    The while the servant sullenly
    Prepared to leave her door.

    Her eggs are dear to mother-dove,
    Her chickens to the hen;
    All young ones bring with them their love,
    Of sheep, or goats, or men!

    This one lone child shall no...

George MacDonald

A Dream Song

    I dreamed of a song--I heard it sung;
    In the ear of my soul its strange notes rung.
    What were its words I could not tell,
    Only the voice I heard right well,
    For its tones unearthly my spirit bound
    In a calm delirium of mystic sound--
    Held me floating, alone and high,
    Placeless and silent, drinking my fill
    Of dews that from cloudless skies distil
    On desert places that thirst and sigh.
    'Twas a woman's voice, deep calling to deep,
    Rousing old echoes that all day sleep
    In cavern and solitude, each apart,
    Here and there in the waiting heart;--
    A voice with a wild melodious cry
    Reaching and longing afar and high.
    Sorrowful triumph, and hopeful strife,
    Gainful death, and new-born life,
...

George MacDonald

A Dream-Song

The stars are spinning their threads,
    And the clouds are the dust that flies,
And the suns are weaving them up
    For the day when the sleepers arise.

The ocean in music rolls,
    The gems are turning to eyes,
And the trees are gathering souls
    For the day when the sleepers arise.

The weepers are learning to smile,
    And laughter to glean the sighs,
And hearts to bury their care and guile
    For the day when the sleepers arise.

Oh, the dews and the moths and the daisy-red,
    The larks and the glimmers and flows!
The lilies and sparrows and daily bread,
    And the something that nobody knows!

George MacDonald

A Father To A Mother

    When God's own child came down to earth,
    High heaven was very glad;
    The angels sang for holy mirth;
    Not God himself was sad!

    Shall we, when ours goes homeward, fret?
    Come, Hope, and wait on Sorrow!
    The little one will not forget;
    It's only till to-morrow!

George MacDonald

A Fear

O Mother Earth, I have a fear
Which I would tell to thee--
Softly and gently in thine ear
When the moon and we are three.

Thy grass and flowers are beautiful;
Among thy trees I hide;
And underneath the moonlight cool
Thy sea looks broad and wide;

But this I fear--lest thou shouldst grow
To me so small and strange,
So distant I should never know
On thee a shade of change,

Although great earthquakes should uplift
Deep mountains from their base,
And thy continual motion shift
The lands upon thy face;--

The grass, the flowers, the dews that lie
Upon them as before--
Driven upwards evermore, lest I
Should love these things no more.

Even now thou dimly hast a place
In deep star galaxies!
And I, driven ever ...

George MacDonald

A Gift.

My gift would find thee fast asleep,
    And arise a dream in thee;
A violet sky o'er the roll and sweep
    Of a purple and pallid sea;
And a crescent moon from my sky should creep
    In the golden dream to thee.

Thou shouldst lay thee down, and sadly list
    To the wail of our cold birth-time;
And build thee a temple, glory-kissed,
    In the heart of the sunny clime;
Its columns should rise in a music-mist,
    And its roofs in a spirit-rhyme.

Its pillars the solemn hills should bind
    'Neath arches of starry deeps;
Its floor the earth all veined and lined;
    Its organ the ocean-sweeps;
And, swung in the hands of the grey-robed wind,
    Its censers the blossom-heaps.

And 'tis almost done; for in this my rhyme,
    Tha...

George MacDonald

A Lown Nicht

Rose o' my hert,
    Open yer leaves to the lampin mune;
Into the curls lat her keek an' dert,
    She'll tak the colour but gie ye tune.

Buik o' my brain,
    Open yer faulds to the starry signs;
Lat the e'en o' the holy luik an' strain,
    Lat them glimmer an' score atween the lines.

Cup o' my soul,
    Goud an' diamond an' ruby cup,
Ye're noucht ava but a toom dry bowl
    Till the wine o' the kingdom fill ye up.

Conscience-glass,
    Mirror the en'less All in thee;
Melt the boundered and make it pass
    Into the tideless, shoreless sea.

Warl o' my life,
    Swing thee roun thy sunny track;
Fire an' win' an' water an' strife,
    Carry them a' to the glory back.

George MacDonald

Page 1 of 30