George MacDonald

“ Nought twinned can be so near; thou art more nigh To me, my God, than is this thinking I To that I mean when I by me is said; Thou art more near me, than is my ready will Near to my love, though both one place do fill;— Yet, till we are one,—Ah me! the long until! 29. Then shall my heart behold thee everywhere. The vision rises of a speechless thing, A perfectness of bliss beyond compare! A time when I nor breathe nor think nor move, But I do breathe and think and feel thy love, The soul of all the songs the saints do sing!— And life dies out in bliss, to come again in prayer. ”

“ God, help me, dull of heart, to trust in thee. Thou art the father of me—not any mood Can part me from the One, the verily Good. When fog and failure o'er my being brood. When life looks but a glimmering marshy clod, No fire out flashing from the living God— Then, then, to rest in faith were worthy victory! 21. To trust is gain and growth, not mere sown seed! Faith heaves the world round to the heavenly dawn, In whose great light the soul doth spell and read Itself high-born, its being derived and drawn From the eternal self-existent fire ”

“ I do not fear the greatness of thy command— To keep heart-open-house to brother men; But till in thy God's love perfect I stand, My door not wide enough will open. Then Each man will be love-awful in my sight; And, open to the eternal morning's might, Each human face will shine my window for thy light. 13. Make me all patience and all diligence; Patience, that thou mayst have thy time with me; Diligence, that I waste not thy expense In sending out to bring me home to thee. What though thy work in me transcends my sense— Too fine, too high, for me to understand— I hope entirely. ”

“ From the sun-heart I came, of love a spark: What should I do but love with all my might? To die of love severe and pure and stark, Were scarcely loss; to lord a loveless height— That were a living death, damnation's positive night. 17. But love is life. To die of love is then The only pass to higher life than this. All love is death to loving, living men; All deaths are leaps across clefts to the abyss. Our life is the broken current, Lord, of thine, Flashing from morn to morn with conscious shine— Then first by willing death self-made, then life divine. ”

“ I cannot see, my God, a reason why From morn to night I go not gladsome free; For, if thou art what my soul thinketh thee, There is no burden but should lightly lie, No duty but a joy at heart must be: Love's perfect will can be nor sore nor small, For God is light—in him no darkness is at all. 24. 'Tis something thus to think, and half to trust— But, ah! my very heart, God-born, should lie Spread to the light, clean, clear of mire and rust, And like a sponge drink the divine sunbeams. What resolution then, strong, swift, and high! What pure devotion, or to live or die! ”

“ My wrath will never work thy righteousness. Up, up the hill, to the whiter than snow-shine, Help me to climb, and dwell in pardon's light. I must be pure as thou, or ever less Than thy design of me—therefore incline My heart to take men's wrongs as thou tak'st mine. 19. Lord, in thy spirit's hurricane, I pray, Strip my soul naked—dress it then thy way. Change for me all my rags to cloth of gold. Who would not poverty for riches yield? A hovel sell to buy a treasure-field? Who would a mess of porridge careful hold Against the universe's birthright old? ”

“ The blindest man will not preach out the sun, Though on his darkness he should found a school. It may be, when he finds he is not dead, Though world and body, sight and sound are fled, Some eyes may open in his foolish head. 14. When I am very weary with hard thought, And yet the question burns and is not quenched, My heart grows cool when to remembrance wrought That thou who know'st the light-born answer sought Know'st too the dark where the doubt lies entrenched— Know'st with what seemings I am sore perplexed, And that with thee I wait, nor needs my soul be vexed. ”

“ Thou wilt not let my fluttering hopes be more, Or lovelier, or greater, than thy giving! Surely thy ships will bring to my poor shore, Of gold and peacocks such a shining store As will laugh all the dreams to holy scorn, Of love and sorrow that were ever born. 29. Sometimes it seems pure natural to trust, And trust right largely, grandly, infinitely, Daring the splendour of the giver's part; At other times, the whole earth is but dust, The sky is dust, yea, dust the human heart; Then art thou nowhere, there is no room for thee In the great dust-heap of eternity. ”