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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
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But thou art mighty, with a power unlike
All, all that we know by the name of power,
Transcending it as intellect transcends
'The stone upon the ground—it may be more,
For these are both created—thou creator,
Lonely, supreme.
Now it is almost over,
My spirit's journey through this strange sad world;
This part is done, whatever cometh next.
Morning and evening have made out their day;
My sun is going down in stormy dark,
But I will face it fearless.
The first act Is over of the drama.—Is it so?
What means this dim dawn of half-memories?
There's something I knew once and know not now!—
A something different from all this earth!
It matters little; I care not—only know
That God will keep the living thing he made.
How mighty must he be to have the right
Of swaying this great power I feel I am—
Moulding and forming it, as pleaseth him!
O God, I come to thee! thou art my life;
O God, thou art my home; I come to thee.
Can this be death? Lo! I am lifted up
Large-eyed into the night. Nothing I see
But that which is, the living awful Truth—
All forms of which are but the sparks flung out
From the luminous ocean clothing round the sun,
Himself all dark. Ah, I remember me:
Christ said to Martha—"Whosoever liveth,
And doth believe in me, shall never die"!
I wait, I wait, wait wondering, till the door
Of God's wide theatre be open flung
To let me in. What marvels I shall see!
The expectation fills me, like new life
Dancing through all my veins.
Once more I thank thee
For all that thou hast made me—most of all,
That thou didst make me wonder and seek thee.
I thank thee for my wife: to thee I trust her;
Forget her not, my God. If thou save her,
I shall be able then to thank thee so
As will content thee—with full-flowing song,
The very bubbles on whose dancing waves
Are daring thoughts flung faithful at thy feet.
My heart sinks in me.—I grow faint. Oh! whence
This wind of love that fans me out of life?
One stoops to kiss me!—Ah, my lily child!
God hath not flung thee over his garden-wall.
[Re-enter LORD SEAFORD with the doctor. JULIAN takes no heed of them. The doctor shakes his head.]
My little child, I'll never leave thee more;
We are both children now in God's big house.
Come, lead me; you are older here than I
By three whole days, my darling angel-child!
[A letter is brought in. LORD SEAFORD holds it before JULIAN'S eyes. He looks vaguely at it.]
Lord S.
It is a letter from your wife, I think.
Julian (feebly).
A letter from my Lilia! Bury it with me—
I'll read it in my chamber, by and by:
Dear words should not be read with others nigh.
Lilia, my wife! I am going home to God.
Lord S. (pending over him).
Your wife is innocent. I know she is.
JULIAN gazes at him blankly. A light begins to grow in his eyes. It grows till his face is transfigured. It vanishes. He dies.
PART V
AND do not fear to hope. Can poet's brain
More than the Father's heart rich good invent?
Each time we smell the autumn's dying scent,
We know the primrose time will come again;
Not more we hope, nor less would soothe our pain.
Be bounteous in thy faith, for not mis-spent
Is confidence unto the Father lent:
Thy need is sown and rooted for his rain.
His thoughts are as thine own; nor are his ways
Other than thine, but by pure opulence
Of beauty infinite and love immense.
Work on. One day, beyond all thoughts of praise,
A sunny joy will crown thee with its rays;
Nor other than thy need, thy recompense.
A DREAM
SCENE I.—"A world not realized." LILY. To her JULIAN
Lily. O father, come with me! I have found her—mother!
All, all that we know by the name of power,
Transcending it as intellect transcends
'The stone upon the ground—it may be more,
For these are both created—thou creator,
Lonely, supreme.
Now it is almost over,
My spirit's journey through this strange sad world;
This part is done, whatever cometh next.
Morning and evening have made out their day;
My sun is going down in stormy dark,
But I will face it fearless.
The first act Is over of the drama.—Is it so?
What means this dim dawn of half-memories?
There's something I knew once and know not now!—
A something different from all this earth!
It matters little; I care not—only know
That God will keep the living thing he made.
How mighty must he be to have the right
Of swaying this great power I feel I am—
Moulding and forming it, as pleaseth him!
O God, I come to thee! thou art my life;
O God, thou art my home; I come to thee.
Can this be death? Lo! I am lifted up
Large-eyed into the night. Nothing I see
But that which is, the living awful Truth—
All forms of which are but the sparks flung out
From the luminous ocean clothing round the sun,
Himself all dark. Ah, I remember me:
Christ said to Martha—"Whosoever liveth,
And doth believe in me, shall never die"!
I wait, I wait, wait wondering, till the door
Of God's wide theatre be open flung
To let me in. What marvels I shall see!
The expectation fills me, like new life
Dancing through all my veins.
Once more I thank thee
For all that thou hast made me—most of all,
That thou didst make me wonder and seek thee.
I thank thee for my wife: to thee I trust her;
Forget her not, my God. If thou save her,
I shall be able then to thank thee so
As will content thee—with full-flowing song,
The very bubbles on whose dancing waves
Are daring thoughts flung faithful at thy feet.
My heart sinks in me.—I grow faint. Oh! whence
This wind of love that fans me out of life?
One stoops to kiss me!—Ah, my lily child!
God hath not flung thee over his garden-wall.
[Re-enter LORD SEAFORD with the doctor. JULIAN takes no heed of them. The doctor shakes his head.]
My little child, I'll never leave thee more;
We are both children now in God's big house.
Come, lead me; you are older here than I
By three whole days, my darling angel-child!
[A letter is brought in. LORD SEAFORD holds it before JULIAN'S eyes. He looks vaguely at it.]
Lord S.
It is a letter from your wife, I think.
Julian (feebly).
A letter from my Lilia! Bury it with me—
I'll read it in my chamber, by and by:
Dear words should not be read with others nigh.
Lilia, my wife! I am going home to God.
Lord S. (pending over him).
Your wife is innocent. I know she is.
JULIAN gazes at him blankly. A light begins to grow in his eyes. It grows till his face is transfigured. It vanishes. He dies.
PART V
AND do not fear to hope. Can poet's brain
More than the Father's heart rich good invent?
Each time we smell the autumn's dying scent,
We know the primrose time will come again;
Not more we hope, nor less would soothe our pain.
Be bounteous in thy faith, for not mis-spent
Is confidence unto the Father lent:
Thy need is sown and rooted for his rain.
His thoughts are as thine own; nor are his ways
Other than thine, but by pure opulence
Of beauty infinite and love immense.
Work on. One day, beyond all thoughts of praise,
A sunny joy will crown thee with its rays;
Nor other than thy need, thy recompense.
A DREAM
SCENE I.—"A world not realized." LILY. To her JULIAN
Lily. O father, come with me! I have found her—mother!
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
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