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

GOING TO SLEEP

 
  Little one, you must not fret
    That I take your clothes away;
  Better sleep you so will get,
    And at morning wake more gay—
 
 
      Saith the children's mother.
  You I must unclothe again,
    For you need a better dress;
  Too much worn are body and brain;
 
 
    You need everlastingness—
      Saith the heavenly father.
  I went down death's lonely stair;
    Laid my garments in the tomb;
 
 
  Dressed again one morning fair;
    Hastened up, and hied me home—
      Saith the elder brother.
  Then I will not be afraid
 
 
    Any ill can come to me;
  When 'tis time to go to bed,
    I will rise and go with thee—
      Saith the little brother.
 

TO-MORROW

 
  My TO-MORROW is but a flitting
    Fancy of the brain;
  God's TO-MORROW an angel sitting,
    Ready for joy or pain.
 
 
  My TO-MORROW has no soul,
    Dead as yesterdays;
  God's—a brimming silver bowl
    Of life that gleams and plays.
 
 
  My TO-MORROW, I mock you away!
    Shadowless nothing, thou!
  God's TO-MORROW, come, dear day,
    For God is in thee now.
 

FOOLISH CHILDREN

 
  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.