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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
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Ambition for thy son restrain,
Thy will to God's will bow:
Thy son he shall be yet again.
And twice his mother thou.
O humble man, O faithful son!
That woman most forlorn
Who yet thy father's will hath done,
Thee, son of man, hath born!
V
Life's best things gather round its close
To light it from the door;
When woman's aid no further goes,
She weeps and loves the more.
She doubted oft, feared for his life,
Yea, feared his mission's loss;
But now she shares the losing strife,
And weeps beside the cross.
The dreaded hour is come at last,
The sword hath reached her soul;
The hour of tortured hope is past,
And gained the awful goal.
There hangs the son her body bore,
The limbs her arms had prest!
The hands, the feet the driven nails tore
Had lain upon her breast!
He speaks; the words how faintly brief,
And how divinely dear!
The mother's heart yearns through its grief
Her dying son to hear.
"Woman, behold thy son.—Behold
Thy mother." Blessed hest
That friend to her torn heart to fold
Who understood him best!
Another son—ah, not instead!—
He gave, lest grief should kill,
While he was down among the dead,
Doing his father's will.
No, not instead! the coming joy
Will make him hers anew;
More hers than when, a little boy,
His life from hers he drew.
II.
THE WOMAN THAT LIFTED UP HER VOICE
Filled with his words of truth and right,
Her heart will break or cry:
A woman's cry bursts forth in might
Of loving agony.
"Blessed the womb, thee, Lord, that bare!
The bosom that thee fed!"
A moment's silence filled the air,
All heard the words she said.
He turns his face: he knows the cry,
The fountain whence it springs—
A woman's heart that glad would die
For woman's best of things.
Good thoughts, though laggard in the rear,
He never quenched or chode:
"Yea, rather, blessed they that hear
And keep the word of God!"
He would uplift her, not rebuke.
The crowd began to stir.
We miss how she the answer took;
We hear no more of her.
III.
THE MOTHER OF ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN
She knelt, she bore a bold request,
Though shy to speak it out:
Ambition, even in mother's breast,
Before him stood in doubt.
"What is it?" "Grant thy promise now,
My sons on thy right hand
And on thy left shall sit when thou
Art king, Lord, in the land."
"Ye know not what ye ask." There lay
A baptism and a cup
She understood not, in the way
By which he must go up.
Thy will to God's will bow:
Thy son he shall be yet again.
And twice his mother thou.
O humble man, O faithful son!
That woman most forlorn
Who yet thy father's will hath done,
Thee, son of man, hath born!
V
Life's best things gather round its close
To light it from the door;
When woman's aid no further goes,
She weeps and loves the more.
She doubted oft, feared for his life,
Yea, feared his mission's loss;
But now she shares the losing strife,
And weeps beside the cross.
The dreaded hour is come at last,
The sword hath reached her soul;
The hour of tortured hope is past,
And gained the awful goal.
There hangs the son her body bore,
The limbs her arms had prest!
The hands, the feet the driven nails tore
Had lain upon her breast!
He speaks; the words how faintly brief,
And how divinely dear!
The mother's heart yearns through its grief
Her dying son to hear.
"Woman, behold thy son.—Behold
Thy mother." Blessed hest
That friend to her torn heart to fold
Who understood him best!
Another son—ah, not instead!—
He gave, lest grief should kill,
While he was down among the dead,
Doing his father's will.
No, not instead! the coming joy
Will make him hers anew;
More hers than when, a little boy,
His life from hers he drew.
II.
THE WOMAN THAT LIFTED UP HER VOICE
Filled with his words of truth and right,
Her heart will break or cry:
A woman's cry bursts forth in might
Of loving agony.
"Blessed the womb, thee, Lord, that bare!
The bosom that thee fed!"
A moment's silence filled the air,
All heard the words she said.
He turns his face: he knows the cry,
The fountain whence it springs—
A woman's heart that glad would die
For woman's best of things.
Good thoughts, though laggard in the rear,
He never quenched or chode:
"Yea, rather, blessed they that hear
And keep the word of God!"
He would uplift her, not rebuke.
The crowd began to stir.
We miss how she the answer took;
We hear no more of her.
III.
THE MOTHER OF ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN
She knelt, she bore a bold request,
Though shy to speak it out:
Ambition, even in mother's breast,
Before him stood in doubt.
"What is it?" "Grant thy promise now,
My sons on thy right hand
And on thy left shall sit when thou
Art king, Lord, in the land."
"Ye know not what ye ask." There lay
A baptism and a cup
She understood not, in the way
By which he must go up.
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
Последний отзыв
Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
Далее