George MacDonald

    In the ancient house of ages,
        See, they cannot rest!
    With a hope, which awe assuages,
        Tremble all the blest.
    For the son and heir eternal,
        To be son yet more,
    Leaves his stately chair supernal
        For the earth's low floor;

    Leaves the room so high and old,
        Leaves the all-world hearth,
    Seeks the out-air, frosty-cold,
        Of the twilight earth--
    To be throned in newer glory
        In a mother's lap,
    Gather up our broken story,
        And right every hap.


II.

    There Earth's foster-baby lies,
        Sleep-dimmed all his graces,
    'Neath four stars of parents' eyes,
        And two heavens of faces!
    See! the cow and ass, dumb-staring,...

They were parted at last, although
    Each was tenderly dear;
As asunder their eyes did go,
    When first alone and near.

'Tis an old story this--
    A trembling and a sigh,
A gaze in the eyes, a kiss--
    Why will it not go by?

Came of old to houses lonely
    Men with wings, but did not show them:
Angels come to our house, only,
    For their wings, they do not know them!

Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae:
What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae,
For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day,
And Willie he's honest and stalwart and gay?

Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor and is proud,
And the tither a minnie that cleiks at the goud '.
They lo'ed are anither, and said their say,
But the daddy and minnie hae partit the twae!

    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.

If in my arms I bore my child,
    Would he cry out for fear
Because the night was dark and wild
    And no one else was near?

Shall I then treat thee, Father, as
    My fatherhood would grieve?
I will be hopeful, though, alas,
    I cannot quite believe!

I had no power, no wish to be:
    Thou madest me half blind!
The darkness comes! I cling to thee!
    Be thou my perfect mind.

When thou turn'st away from ill,
Christ is this side of thy hill.

When thou turnest toward good,
Christ is walking in thy wood.

When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!"
Then the Lord is in thy garden.

When stern Duty wakes to watch,
Then his hand is on the latch.

But when Hope thy song doth rouse,
Then the Lord is in the house.

When to love is all thy wit,
Christ doth at thy table sit.

When God's will is thy heart's pole,
Then is Christ thy very soul.

    Heaven and the sea attend the dying day,
    And in their sadness overflow and blend--
    Faint gold, and windy blue, and green and gray:
    Far out amid them my pale soul I send.

    For, as they mingle, so mix life and death;
    An hour draws near when my day too will die;
    Already I forecast unheaving breath,
    Eviction on the moorland of yon sky.

    Coldly and sadly lone, unhoused, alone,
    Twixt wind-broke wave and heaven's uncaring space!
    At board and hearth from this time forth unknown!
    Refuge no more in wife or daughter's face!

    Cold, cold and sad, lone as that desert sea!
    Sad, lonely, as that hopeless, patient sky!
    Forward I cannot go, nor backward flee!
    I am not dead; I live, and cannot die!

    Autumn clouds are flying, flying
    O'er the waste of blue;
    Summer flowers are dying, dying,
    Late so lovely new.
    Labouring wains are slowly rolling
    Home with winter grain;
    Holy bells are slowly tolling
    Over buried men.

    Goldener light sets noon a sleeping
    Like an afternoon;
    Colder airs come stealing, creeping
    From the misty moon;
    And the leaves, of old age dying,
    Earthy hues put on;
    Out on every lone wind sighing
    That their day is gone.

    Autumn's sun is sinking, sinking
    Down to winter low;
    And our hearts are thinking, thinking
    Of the sleet and snow;
    For our sun is slowly sliding
    Down the hill of might;
    And no moon is softly gliding

Along the tops of all the yellow trees,
    The golden-yellow trees, the sunshine lies;
    And where the leaves are gone, long rays surprise
Lone depths of thicket with their brightnesses;
And through the woods, all waste of many a breeze,
    Cometh more joy of light for Poet's eyes--
    Green fields lying yellow underneath the skies,
And shining houses and blue distances.

By the roadside, like rocks of golden ore
    That make the western river-beds so bright,
    The briar and the furze are all alight!
Perhaps the year will be so fair no more,
    But now the fallen, falling leaves are gay,
    And autumn old has shone into a Day!

    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!<...

Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.

Where did you get those eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
Some of the starry twinkles left in.

Where did you get that little tear?
I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high?
A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?
I saw something better than any one knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into bonds and bands.

Feet, wh...

    "Come, children, put away your toys;
    Roll up that kite's long line;
    The day is done for girls and boys--
    Look, it is almost nine!
    Come, weary foot, and sleepy head,
    Get up, and come along to bed."

    The children, loath, must yet obey;
    Up the long stair they creep;
    Lie down, and something sing or say
    Until they fall asleep,
    To steal through caverns of the night
    Into the morning's golden light.

    We, elder ones, sit up more late,
    And tasks unfinished ply,
    But, gently busy, watch and wait--
    Dear sister, you and I,
    To hear the Father, with soft tread,
    Coming to carry us to bed.

    It's all very well,
Said the Bell,
To be the big Organ below!
But the folk come and go,
Said the Bell,
And you never can tell
What sort of person the Organ will blow!
And, besides, it is much at the mercy of the weather
For 'tis all made in pieces and glued together!

    But up in my cell
Next door to the sky,
Said the Bell,
I dwell
Very high;
And with glorious go
I swing to and fro;
I swing swift or slow,
I swing as I please,
With summons or knell;
I swing at my ease,
Said the Bell:
Not the tallest of men
Can reach up to touch me,
To smirch me or smutch me,
Or make me do what
I would not be at!
And, then,
The weather can't cause me to shrink or increase:
I chose to be made in one perfect pi...

Better to smell a violet,
Than sip the careless wine;
Better to list one music tone,
Than watch the jewels' shine.

Better to have the love of one,
Than smiles like morning dew;
Better to have a living seed
Than flowers of every hue.

Better to feel a love within,
Than be lovely to the sight;
Better a homely tenderness
Than beauty's wild delight.

Better to love than be beloved.
Though lonely all the day;
Better the fountain in the heart,
Than the fountain by the way.

Better a feeble love to God,
Than for woman's love to pine;
Better to have the making God
Than the woman made divine.

Better be fed by mother's hand,
Than eat alone at will;
Better to trust in God, than say:
My goods my storehouse fill...

    Better to smell the violet
    Than sip the glowing wine;
    Better to hearken to a brook
    Than watch a diamond shine.

    Better to have a loving friend
    Than ten admiring foes;
    Better a daisy's earthy root
    Than a gorgeous, dying rose.

    Better to love in loneliness
    Than bask in love all day;
    Better the fountain in the heart
    Than the fountain by the way.

    Better be fed by mother's hand
    Than eat alone at will;
    Better to trust in God, than say,
    My goods my storehouse fill.

    Better to be a little wise
    Than in knowledge to abound;
    Better to teach a child than toil
    To fill perfection's round.

    Better to sit at some man's feet
    Than thrill a l...

I will sing a song,
    Said the owl.
You sing a song, sing-song
    Ugly fowl!
What will you sing about,
Night in and day out?

All about the night,
    When the gray
With her cloak smothers bright,
    Hard, sharp day.
Oh, the moon! the cool dew!
And the shadows!--tu-whoo!

I will sing a song,
    Said the nightingale.
Sing a song, long, long,
    Little Neverfail!
What will you sing about,
Day in or day out?

All about the light
    Gone away,
Down, away, and out of sight:
    Wake up, day!
For the master is not dead,
Only gone to bed.

I will sing a song,
    Said the lark.
Sing, sing, Throat-strong,
    Little Kill-the-dark!
What will you sing about,
Day in and night out?...

    A quiet heart, submissive, meek,
        Father, do thou bestow,
    Which more than granted, will not seek
        To have, or give, or know.

    Each little hill then holds its gift
        Forth to my joying eyes;
    Each mighty mountain then doth lift
        My spirit to the skies.

    Lo, then the running water sounds
        With gladsome, secret things!
    The silent water more abounds,
        And more the hidden springs.

    Live murmurs then the trees will blend
        With all the feathered song;
    The waving grass low tribute lend
        Earth's music to prolong.

    The sun will cast great crowns of light
        On waves that anthems roar;
    The dusky billows break at night
        In flashes on...