George MacDonald Poems

Christmas-Days are still in store:-
Will they change-steal faded hither?
Or come fresh as heretofore,
Summering all our winter weather?
...

I.-BY THE CRADLE.

Close her eyes: she must not peep!
Let her little puds go slack;
...

O Mother Earth, I have a fear
Which I would tell to thee-
Softly and gently in thine ear
When the moon and we are three.
...

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
...

I.

Hark, in the steeple the dull bell swinging
Over the furrows ill ploughed by Death!
...

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
...

Thou foldest me in sickness;
Thou callest through the cloud;
I batter with the thickness
Of the swathing, blinding shroud:
...

I.

I see thy house, but I am blown about,
A wind-mocked kite, between the earth and sky,
...

I have long enough been working down in my cellar,
Working spade and pick, boring-chisel and drill;
...

I.

Who follows Jesus shall not walk
In darksome road with danger rife;
...