George MacDonald Poems

Hears't thou the dash of water, loud and hoarse,
With its perpetual tidings upward climb,
Struggling against the wind? Oh, how sublime!
...

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!
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What dost thou here, O soul,
Beyond thy own control,
Under the strange wild sky?
0 stars, reach down your hands,
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From the German of Dessler

O Lord, how happy is the time
When in thy love I rest!
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Loosener of springs, he died by thee!
Softness, not hardness, sent him home;
He loved thee-and thou mad'st him free
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There may be seeming calm above, but no!-
There is a pulse below which ceases not,
A subterranean working, fiery hot,
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Now in the dark of February rains,
Poor lovers of the sunshine, spring is born,
The earthy fields are full of hidden corn,
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King Cole he reigned in Aureoland,
But the sceptre was seldom in his hand

Far oftener was there his golden cup-
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As to her child a mother calls,
'Come to me, child; come near!'
Calling, in silent intervals,
The Master's voice I hear.
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O Thou that walkest with nigh hopeless feet
Past the one harbour, built for thee and thine.
Doth no stray odour from its table greet,
...