The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1

  Waking in the night to pray,     Sleeping when the answer comes,   Foolish are we even at play—     Tearfully we beat our drums!   Cast the good dry bread away,     Weep, and gather up the crumbs!   "Evermore," while shines the day,     "Lord," we cry, "thy will be done!"   Soon as evening groweth gray,     Thy fair will we fain would shun!   "Take, oh, take thy hand away!     See the horrid dark begun!"   "Thou hast conquered Death," we say,     "Christ, whom Hades could not keep!"   Then, "Ah, see the pallid clay!     Death it is," we cry, "not sleep!   Grave, take all. Shut out the Day.     Sit we on the ground and weep!"   Gathering potsherds all the day,     Truant children, Lord, we roam;   Fret, and longer want to play,     When at cool thy voice doth come!—   Elder Brother, lead the way;     Make us good as we go home. LOVE IS HOME   Love is the part, and love is the whole;     Love is the robe, and love is the pall;   Ruler of heart and brain and soul,     Love is the lord and the slave of all!   I thank thee, Love, that thou lov'st me;   I thank thee more that I love thee.   Love is the rain, and love is the air,     Love is the earth that holdeth fast;   Love is the root that is buried there,     Love is the open flower at last!   I thank thee, Love all round about,   That the eyes of my love are looking out.   Love is the sun, and love is the sea;     Love is the tide that comes and goes;   Flowing and flowing it comes to me;     Ebbing and ebbing to thee it flows!   Oh my sun, and my wind, and tide!   My sea, and my shore, and all beside!   Light, oh light that art by showing;     Wind, oh wind that liv'st by motion;   Thought, oh thought that art by knowing;     Will, that art born in self-devotion!   Love is you, though not all of you know it;   Ye are not love, yet ye always show it!   Faithful creator, heart-longed-for father,     Home of our heart-infolded brother,   Home to thee all thy glories gather—     All are thy love, and there is no other!   O Love-at-rest, we loves that roam—   Home unto thee, we are coming home!

FAITH

  "Earth, if aught should check thy race,   Rushing through unfended space,   Headlong, stayless, thou wilt fall   Into yonder glowing ball!"   "Beggar of the universe,   Faithless as an empty purse!   Sent abroad to cool and tame,   Think'st I fear my native flame?"   "If thou never on thy track   Turn thee round and hie thee back,   Thou wilt wander evermore,   Outcast, cold—a comet hoar!"   "While I sweep my ring along   In an air of joyous song,   Thou art drifting, heart awry,   From the sun of liberty!"

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!

OUR SHIP

  Had I a great ship coming home,     With big plunge o'er the sea,   What bright things, hid from star and foam,     Lay in her heart for thee!   The stormy billows heave and dip,     The wild winds veer and play;   But, regnant all, God's stately ship     Is steering home this way!

MY HEART THY LARK

  Why dost thou want to sing     When thou hast no song, my heart?   If there be in thee a hidden spring,     Wherefore will no word start?   On its way thou hearest no song,     Yet flutters thy unborn joy!   The years of thy life are growing long—     Art still the heart of a boy?—   Father, I am thy child!     My heart is in thy hand!   Let it hear some echo, with gladness wild,     Of a song in thy high land.   It will answer—but how, my God,     Thou knowest; I cannot say:   It will spring, I know, thy lark, from thy sod—     Thy lark to meet thy day!

TWO IN ONE

  Were thou and I the white pinions     On some eager, heaven-born dove,   Swift would we mount to the old dominions,     To our rest of old, my love!   Were thou and I trembling strands     In music's enchanted line,   We would wait and wait for magic hands     To untwist the magic twine.   Were we two sky-tints, thou and I,     Thou the golden, I the red;   We would quiver and glow and darken and die,     And love until we were dead!   Nearer than wings of one dove,     Than tones or colours in chord,   We are one—and safe, and for ever, my love,     Two thoughts in the heart of one Lord.

BEDTIME

  "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.

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.

A SONG PRAYER

  Lord Jesus,   Oh, ease us   Of Self that oppresses,   Annoys and distresses   Body and brain   With dull pain!   Thou never,   Since ever,   Save one moment only,   Wast left, or wast lonely:   We are alone,   And make moan.   Far parted,   Dull-hearted,   We wander, sleep-walking,   Mere shadows, dim-stalking:   Orphans we roam,   Far from home.   Oh new man,   Sole human,   God's son, and our brother,   Give each to the other—   No one left out   In cold doubt!   High Father,   Oh gather   Thy sons and thy daughters,   Through fires and through waters,   Home to the nest   Of thy breast!   There under   The wonder   Of great wings of healing,   Of love and revealing,   Teach us anew   To sing true.

SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS

SONGS OF THE SUMMER DAYS

I

  A glory on the chamber wall!     A glory in the brain!   Triumphant floods of glory fall     On heath, and wold, and plain.   Earth lieth still in hopeless bliss;     She has, and seeks no more;   Forgets that days come after this,     Forgets the days before.   Each ripple waves a flickering fire     Of gladness, as it runs;   They laugh and flash, and leap and spire,     And toss ten thousand suns.   But hark! low, in the world within,     One sad aeolian tone:   "Ah! shall we ever, ever win     A summer of our own?"

II

  A morn of winds and swaying trees—     Earth's jubilance rushing out!   The birds are fighting with the breeze;     The waters heave about.   White clouds are swept across the sky,     Their shadows o'er the graves;   Purpling the green, they float and fly     Athwart the sunny waves.   The long grass—an earth-rooted sea—     Mimics the watery strife.   To boat or horse? Wild motion we     Shall find harmonious life.   But whither? Roll and sweep and bend     Suffice for Nature's part;   But motion to an endless end     Is needful for our heart.

III

  The morn awakes like brooding dove,     With outspread wings of gray;   Her feathery clouds close in above,     And roof a sober day.   No motion in the deeps of air!     No trembling in the leaves!   A still contentment everywhere,     That neither laughs nor grieves!   A film of sheeted silver gray     Shuts in the ocean's hue;   White-winged feluccas cleave their way     In paths of gorgeous blue.   Dream on, dream on, O dreamy day,     Thy very clouds are dreams!   Yon child is dreaming far away—     He is not where he seems.

IV

  The lark is up, his faith is strong,     He mounts the morning air;   Lone voice of all the creature throng,     He sings the morning prayer.   Slow clouds from north and south appear,     Black-based, with shining slope;   In sullen forms their might they rear,     And climb the vaulted cope.   A lightning flash, a thunder boom!—     Nor sun nor clouds are there;   A single, all-pervading gloom     Hangs in the heavy air.   A weeping, wasting afternoon     Weighs down the aspiring corn;   Amber and red, the sunset soon     Leads back to golden morn.

SONGS OF THE SUMMER NIGHTS

I

  The dreary wind of night is out,     Homeless and wandering slow;   O'er pale seas moaning like a doubt,     It breathes, but will not blow.   It sighs from out the helpless past,     Where doleful things abide;   Gray ghosts of dead thought sail aghast     Across its ebbing tide.   O'er marshy pools it faints and flows,     All deaf and dumb and blind;   O'er moor and mountain aimless goes—     The listless woesome wind!   Nay, nay!—breathe on, sweet wind of night!     The sigh is all in me;   Flow, fan, and blow, with gentle might,     Until I wake and see.

II

  The west is broken into bars     Of orange, gold, and gray;   Gone is the sun, fast come the stars,     And night infolds the day.   My boat glides with the gliding stream,     Following adown its breast   One flowing mirrored amber gleam,     The death-smile of the west.   The river moves; the sky is still,     No ceaseless quest it knows:   Thy bosom swells, thy fair eyes fill     At sight of its repose.   The ripples run; all patient sit     The stars above the night.   In shade and gleam the waters flit:     The heavens are changeless bright!

III

  Alone I lie, buried amid     The long luxurious grass;   The bats flit round me, born and hid     In twilight's wavering mass.   The fir-top floats, an airy isle,     High o'er the mossy ground;   Harmonious silence breathes the while     In scent instead of sound.   The flaming rose glooms swarthy red;     The borage gleams more blue;   Dim-starred with white, a flowery bed     Glimmers the rich dusk through.   Hid in the summer grass I lie,     Lost in the great blue cave;   My body gazes at the sky,     And measures out its grave.

IV

  What art thou, gathering dusky cool,     In slow gradation fine?   Death's lovely shadow, flickering full     Of eyes about to shine.   When weary Day goes down below,     Thou leanest o'er his grave,   Revolving all the vanished show     The gracious splendour gave.   Or art thou not she rather—say—     Dark-browed, with luminous eyes,   Of whom is born the mighty Day,     That fights and saves and dies?   For action sleeps with sleeping light;     Calm thought awakes with thee:   The soul is then a summer night,     With stars that shine and see.

SONGS OF THE AUTUMN DAYS

I

  We bore him through the golden land,     One early harvest morn;   The corn stood ripe on either hand—     He knew all about the corn.   How shall the harvest gathered be     Without him standing by?   Without him walking on the lea,     The sky is scarce a sky.   The year's glad work is almost done;     The land is rich in fruit;   Yellow it floats in air and sun—     Earth holds it by the root.   Why should earth hold it for a day     When harvest-time is come?   Death is triumphant o'er decay,     And leads the ripened home.

II

  And though the sun be not so warm,     His shining is not lost;   Both corn and hope, of heart and farm,     Lie hid from coming frost.   The sombre woods are richly sad,     Their leaves are red and gold:   Are thoughts in solemn splendour clad     Signs that we men grow old?   Strange odours haunt the doubtful brain     From fields and days gone by;   And mournful memories again     Are born, are loved, and die.   The mornings clear, the evenings cool     Foretell no wintry wars;   The day of dying leaves is full,     The night of glowing stars.

III

  'Tis late before the sun will rise,     And early he will go;   Gray fringes hang from the gray skies,     And wet the ground below.   Red fruit has followed golden corn;     The leaves are few and sere;   My thoughts are old as soon as born,     And chill with coming fear.   The winds lie sick; no softest breath     Floats through the branches bare;   A silence as of coming death     Is growing in the air.   But what must fade can bear to fade—     Was born to meet the ill:   Creep on, old Winter, deathly shade!     We sorrow, and are still.

IV

  There is no longer any heaven     To glorify our clouds;   The rising vapours downward driven     Come home in palls and shrouds.   The sun himself is ill bested     A heavenly sign to show;   His radiance, dimmed to glowing red,     Can hardly further go.   An earthy damp, a churchyard gloom,     Pervade the moveless air;   The year is sinking to its tomb,     And death is everywhere.   But while sad thoughts together creep,     Like bees too cold to sting,   God's children, in their beds asleep,     Are dreaming of the spring.

SONGS OF THE AUTUMN NIGHTS

I

  O night, send up the harvest moon     To walk about the fields,   And make of midnight magic noon     On lonely tarns and wealds.   In golden ranks, with golden crowns,     All in the yellow land,   Old solemn kings in rustling gowns,     The shocks moon-charmed stand.   Sky-mirror she, afloat in space,     Beholds our coming morn:   Her heavenly joy hath such a grace,     It ripens earthly corn;   Like some lone saint with upward eyes,     Lost in the deeps of prayer:   The people still their prayers and sighs,     And gazing ripen there.

II

  So, like the corn moon-ripened last,     Would I, weary and gray,   On golden memories ripen fast,     And ripening pass away.   In an old night so let me die;     A slow wind out of doors;   A waning moon low in the sky;     A vapour on the moors;   A fire just dying in the gloom;     Earth haunted all with dreams;   A sound of waters in the room;     A mirror's moony gleams;   And near me, in the sinking night,     More thoughts than move in me—   Forgiving wrong, and loving right,     And waiting till I see.

III

  Across the stubble glooms the wind;     High sails the lated crow;   The west with pallid green is lined;     Fog tracks the river's flow.   My heart is cold and sad; I moan,     Yet care not for my grief;   The summer fervours all are gone;     The roses are but leaf.   Old age is coming, frosty, hoar;     The snows of time will fall;   My jubilance, dream-like, no more     Returns for any call!   O lapsing heart! thy feeble strain     Sends up the blood so spare,   That my poor withering autumn brain     Sees autumn everywhere!

IV

  Lord of my life! if I am blind,     I reck not—thou canst see;   I well may wait my summer mind,     When I am sure of thee!   I made no brave bright suns arise,     Veiled up no sweet gray eves;   I hung no rose-lamps, lit no eyes,     Sent out no windy leaves!   I said not "I will cast a charm     These gracious forms around;"   My heart with unwilled love grew warm;     I took but what I found!   When cold winds range my winter-night,     Be thou my summer-door;   Keep for me all my young delight,     Till I am old no more.

SONGS OF THE WINTER DAYS

I   The sky has turned its heart away,     The earth its sorrow found;   The daisies turn from childhood's play,     And creep into the ground.   The earth is black and cold and hard;     Thin films of dry white ice,   Across the rugged wheel-tracks barred,     The children's feet entice.   Dark flows the stream, as if it mourned     The winter in the land;   With idle icicles adorned,     That mill-wheel soon will stand.   But, friends, to say 'tis cold, and part,     Is to let in the cold;   We'll make a summer of the heart,     And laugh at winter old. II   With vague dead gleam the morning white     Comes through the window-panes;   The clouds have fallen all the night,     Without the noise of rains.   As of departing, unseen ghost,     Footprints go from the door;   The man himself must long be lost     Who left those footprints hoar!   Yet follow thou; tread down the snow;     Leave all the road behind;   Heed not the winds that steely blow,     Heed not the sky unkind;   For though the glittering air grow dark,     The snow will shine till morn;   And long ere then one dear home-spark     Will winter laugh to scorn. III   Oh wildly wild the roaring blast     Torments the fallen snow!   The wintry storms are up at last,     And care not how they go!   In foam-like wreaths the water hoar,     Rapt whistling in the air,   Gleams through the dismal twilight frore;     A region in despair,   A spectral ocean lies outside,     Torn by a tempest dark;   Its ghostly billows, dim descried,     Leap on my stranded bark.   Death-sheeted figures, long and white,     Rave driving through the spray;   Or, bosomed in the ghastly night,     Shriek doom-cries far away. IV   A morning clear, with frosty light     From sunbeams late and low;   They shine upon the snow so white,     And shine back from the snow.   Down tusks of ice one drop will go,     Nor fall: at sunny noon   'Twill hang a diamond—fade, and grow     An opal for the moon.   And when the bright sad sun is low     Behind the mountain-dome,   A twilight wind will come and blow     Around the children's home,   And puff and waft the powdery snow,     As feet unseen did pass;   While, waiting in its bed below,     Green lies the summer grass.