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

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A Make-Believe

I will think as thinks the rabbit:--

    Oh, delight
    In the night
    When the moon
    Sets the tune
    To the woods!
    And the broods
    All run out,
    Frisk about,
    Go and come,
    Beat the drum--
    Here in groups,
    There in troops!
    Now there's one!
    Now it's gone!
    There are none!
And now they are dancing like chaff!
I look, and I laugh,
But sit by my door, and keep to my habit--
A wise, respectable, clean-furred old rabbit!

    Now I'm going,
            Business calls me out--
    Going, going,
    Very knowing,
            Slow, long-heeled, and stout,
            Loping, lumbering,
    Nipping, numbering,
    Head on this side and on that,
    Along the...

George MacDonald

A Mammon-Marriage.

The croak of a raven hoar!
    A dog's howl, kennel-tied!
Loud shuts the carriage-door:
    The two are away on their ghastly ride
To Death's salt shore!

Where are the love and the grace?
    The bridegroom is thirsty and cold!
The bride's skull sharpens her face!
    But the coachman is driving, jubilant, bold,
The devil's pace.

The horses shivered and shook
    Waiting gaunt and haggard
With sorry and evil look;
    But swift as a drunken wind they staggered
'Longst Lethe brook.

Long since, they ran no more;
    Heavily pulling they died
On the sand of the hopeless shore
    Where never swelled or sank a tide,
And the salt burns sore.

Flat their skeletons lie,
    White shadows on shining sand;
The cruste...

George MacDonald

A Meditation Of St. Eligius

Queen Mary one day Jesus sent
    To fetch some water, legends tell;
The little boy, obedient,
    Drew a full pitcher from the well;

But as he raised it to his head,
    The water lipping with the rim,
The handle broke, and all was shed
    Upon the stones about the brim.

His cloak upon the ground he laid
    And in it gathered up the pool; [Proverbs xxx. 4.]
Obedient there the water staid,
    And home he bore it plentiful.

Eligius said, "Tis fabled ill:
    The hands that all the world control,
Had here been room for miracle,
    Had made his mother's pitcher whole!

"Still, some few drops for thirsty need
    A poor invention even, when told
In love of thee the Truth indeed,
    Like broken pitcher yet may hold:...

George MacDonald

A Memorial Of Africa.

I.

Upon a rock, high on a mountain side,
    Thousands of feet above the lake-sea's lip,
    A rock in which old waters' rise and dip,
Plunge and recoil, and backward eddying tide
Had, age-long, worn, while races lived and died,
    Involved channels, where the sea-weed's drip
    Followed the ebb; and now earth-grasses sip
Fresh dews from heaven, whereby on earth they bide--
    I sat and gazed southwards. A dry flow
Of withering wind blew on my drooping strength
From o'er the awful desert's burning length.
    Behind me piled, away and upward go
Great sweeps of savage mountains--up, away,
Where panthers roam, and snow gleams all the day.


II.

Ah, God! the world needs many hours to make;
    Nor hast thou ceased the making of it ye...

George MacDonald

A Mood

My thoughts are like fire-flies, pulsing in moonlight;
    My heart like a silver cup, filled with red wine;
My soul a pale gleaming horizon, whence soon light
    Will flood the gold earth with a torrent divine.

George MacDonald

A Noonday Melody

Everything goes to its rest;
    The hills are asleep in the noon;
And life is as still in its nest
    As the moon when she looks on a moon
In the depth of a calm river's breast
    As it steals through a midnight in June.

The streams have forgotten the sea
    In the dream of their musical sound;
The sunlight is thick on the tree,
    And the shadows lie warm on the ground,--
So still, you may watch them and see
    Every breath that awakens around.

The churchyard lies still in the heat,
    With its handful of mouldering bone,
As still as the long stalk of wheat
    In the shadow that sits by the stone,
As still as the grass at my feet
    When I walk in the meadows alone.

The waves are asleep on the main,
    And the ships ...

George MacDonald

A Prayer

    When I look back upon my life nigh spent,
        Nigh spent, although the stream as yet flows on,
    I more of follies than of sins repent,
        Less for offence than Love's shortcomings moan.
        With self, O Father, leave me not alone--
    Leave not with the beguiler the beguiled;
        Besmirched and ragged, Lord, take back thine own:
    A fool I bring thee to be made a child.

George MacDonald

A Prayer

    Thou who mad'st the mighty clock
    Of the great world go;
    Mad'st its pendulum swing and rock,
    Ceaseless to and fro;
    Thou whose will doth push and draw
    Every orb in heaven,
    Help me move by higher law
    In my spirit graven.

    Like a planet let me swing--
    With intention strong;
    In my orbit rushing sing
    Jubilant along;
    Help me answer in my course
    To my seasons due;
    Lord of every stayless force,
    Make my Willing true.

George MacDonald

A Prayer For The Past

    All sights and sounds of day and year,
    All groups and forms, each leaf and gem,
    Are thine, O God, nor will I fear
    To talk to thee of them.

        Too great thy heart is to despise,
    Whose day girds centuries about;
    From things which we name small, thine eyes
    See great things looking out.

        Therefore the prayerful song I sing
    May come to thee in ordered words:
    Though lowly born, it needs not cling
    In terror to its chords.

        I think that nothing made is lost;
    That not a moon has ever shone,
    That not a cloud my eyes hath crossed
    But to my soul is gone.

        That all the lost years garnered lie
    In this thy casket, my dim soul;
    And thou wilt, once, th...

George MacDonald

A Prayer For The Past.

    All sights and sounds of every year,
All groups and forms, each leaf and gem,
Are thine, O God, nor need I fear
To speak to Thee of them.

    Too great thy heart is to despise;
Thy day girds centuries about;
From things which we count small, thine eyes
See great things looking out.

    Therefore this prayerful song I sing
May come to Thee in ordered words;
Therefore its sweet sounds need not cling
In terror to their chords.

            *            *            *            *            *

    I know that nothing made is lost;
That not a moon hath ever shone,
That not a cloud my eyes hath crost,
But to my soul hath gone.

    That all the dead years garnered lie
In this gem-casket, my dim soul;
And that thy hand m...

George MacDonald

A Prayer For The Past.

    Now far from my old northern land,
    I live where gentle winters pass;
    Where green seas lave a wealthy strand,
    And unsown is the grass;

        Where gorgeous sunsets claim the scope
    Of gazing heaven to spread their show,
    Hang scarlet clouds in the topmost cope,
    With fringes flaming low;

        With one beside me in whose eyes
    Once more old Nature finds a home;
    There treasures up her changeful skies,
    Her phosphorescent foam.

        O'er a new joy this day we bend,
    Soft power from heaven our souls to lift;
    A wondering wonder thou dost lend
    With loan outpassing gift--

        A little child. She sees the sun--
    Once more incarnates thy old law:
    One born of two, tw...

George MacDonald

A Prayer In Sickness.

Thou foldest me in sickness;
    Thou callest through the cloud;
I batter with the thickness
    Of the swathing, blinding shroud:
Oh, let me see thy face,
The only perfect grace
    That thou canst show thy child.

0 father, being-giver,
    Take off the sickness-cloud;
Saviour, my life deliver
    From this dull body-shroud:
Till I can see thy face
I am not full of grace,
    I am not reconciled.

George MacDonald

A Prisoner

The hinges are so rusty
The door is fixed and fast;
The windows are so dusty
The sun looks in aghast:
Knock out the glass, I pray,
Or dash the door away,
Or break the house down bodily,
And let my soul go free!

George MacDonald

A Sang O' Zion

Ane by ane they gang awa;
The getherer gethers grit and sma':
Ane by ane maks ane and a'!

Aye whan ane sets doon the cup
Ane ahint maun tak it up:
A' thegither they will sup!

Golden-heidit, ripe, and strang,
Shorn will be the hairst or lang:
Syne begins a better sang!

George MacDonald

A Song For Christmas

    Hark, in the steeple the dull bell swinging
        Over the furrows ill ploughed by Death!
    Hark the bird-babble, the loud lark singing!
        Hark, from the sky, what the prophet saith!

    Hark, in the pines, the free Wind, complaining--
        Moaning, and murmuring, "Life is bare!"
    Hark, in the organ, the caught Wind, outstraining,
        Jubilant rise in a soaring prayer!

    Toll for the burying, sexton tolling!
        Sing for the second birth, angel Lark!
    Moan, ye poor Pines, with the Past condoling!
        Burst out, brave Organ, and kill the Dark!


II.

    Sit on the ground, and immure thy sorrow;
        I will give freedom to mine in song!
    Haunt thou the tomb, and deny the morrow;
        I wil...

George MacDonald

A Song In A Dream.

I dreamed of a song, I heard it sung;
In the ear that sleeps not its music rung.
And the tones were upheld by harmonies deep,
Where the spirit floated; yea, soared, on their sweep
With each wild unearthly word and tone,
Upward, it knew not whither bound,
In a calm delirium of mystic sound--
Up, where the Genius of Thought alone
Loveth in silence to drink his fill
Of dews that from unknown clouds distil.
A woman's voice the deep echoes awoke,
In the caverns and solitudes of my soul;
But such a voice had never broke
Through the sea of sounds that about us roll,
Choking the ear in the daylight strife.
There was sorrow and triumph, and death and life
In each chord-note of that prophet-song,
Blended in one harmonious throng:
Such a chant, ere my voice has...

George MacDonald

A Song In The Night

I would I were an angel strong,
An angel of the sun, hasting along!

I would I were just come awake,
A child outbursting from night's dusky brake!

Or lark whose inward, upward fate
Mocks every wall that masks the heavenly gate!

Or hopeful cock whose clarion clear
Shrills ten times ere a film of dawn appear!

Or but a glowworm: even then
My light would come straight from the Light of Men!

I am a dead seed, dark and slow:
Father of larks and children, make me grow.

George MacDonald

A Song In The Night.

A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree,
Sang in the moonshine, merrily,
Three little songs, one, two, and three,
A song for his wife, for himself, and me.

He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high,
Filling the moonlight that filled the sky;
"Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive!
Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!"

He sang to himself, "What shall I do
With this life that thrills me through and through!
Glad is so glad that it turns to ache!
Out with it, song, or my heart will break!"

He sang to me, "Man, do not fear
Though the moon goes down and the dark is near;
Listen my song and rest thine eyes;
Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!"

I folded me up in the heart of his tune,
And fell asleep with the sinking moon;
...

George MacDonald

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