George MacDonald Poems

I.

In the ancient house of ages,
See, they cannot rest!
...

Roses all the rosy way!
Roses to the rosier west
Where the roses of the day
Cling to night's unrosy breast!
...

I.

We bore him through the golden land,
One early harvest morn;
...

I.

O night, send up the harvest moon
To walk about the fields,
...

Oh! is it Death that comes
To have a foretaste of the whole?
To-night the planets and the stars
Will glimmer through my window-bars
...

I cannot praise thee. By his instrument
The master sits, and moves nor foot nor hand;
For see the organ-pipes this, that way bent,
...

On the far horizon there
Heaps of cloudy darkness rest;
Though the wind is in the air
There is stupor east and west.
...

'Shew us the Father.' Chiming stars of space,
And lives that fit the worlds, and means and powers,
A Thought that holds them up reveal to ours-
...

In that high country whither thou art gone,
Right noble friend, thou walkest with thy peers,
The gathered great of many a hundred years!
...

Oh holy Sabbath bells,
Ye have a pleasant voice!
Through all the land your music swells,
And man with one commandment tells
...