The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
Полная версияThe poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
Полная версия:
The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1
WHAT THE LORD SAITH
Trust my father, saith the eldest-born; I did trust him ere the earth began; Not to know him is to be forlorn; Not to love him is—not to be man. He that knows him loves him altogether; With my father I am so content That through all this dreary human weather I am working, waiting, confident. He is with me; I am not alone; Life is bliss, because I am his child; Down in Hades will I lay the stone Whence shall rise to Heaven his city piled. Hearken, brothers, pray you, to my story! Hear me, sister; hearken, child, to me: Our one father is a perfect glory; He is light, and there is none but he. Come then with me; I will lead the way; All of you, sore-hearted, heavy-shod, Come to father, yours and mine, I pray; Little ones, I pray you, come to God!HOW SHALL HE SING WHO HATH NO SONG?
How shall he sing who hath no song? He laugh who hath no mirth? Will cannot wake the sleeping song! Yea, Love itself in vain may long To sing with them that have a song, Or, mirthless, laugh with Mirth! He who would sing but hath no song Must speak the right, denounce the wrong, Must humbly front the indignant throng, Must yield his back to Satire's thong, Nor shield his face from liar's prong, Must say and do and be the truth, And fearless wait for what ensueth, Wait, wait, with patience sweet and strong, Until God's glory fill the earth; Then shall he sing who had no song, He laugh who had no mirth! Yea, if in land of stony dearth Like barren rock thou sit, Round which the phantom-waters flit Of heart- and brain-mirage That can no thirst assuage, Yet be thou still, and wait, wait long; A right sea comes to drown the wrong; God's glory comes to fill the earth, And thou, no more a scathed rock, Shalt start alive with gladsome shock, Shalt a hand-clapping billow be, And shout with the eternal sea! To righteousness and love belong The dance, the jubilance, the song, When the great Right hath quelled the wrong, And Truth hath stilled the lying tongue! Then men must sing because of song, And laugh because of mirth! And this shall be their anthem strong— Hallow! the glad God fills the earth, And Love sits down by every hearth!THIS WORLD
Thy world is made to fit thine own, A nursery for thy children small, The playground-footstool of thy throne, Thy solemn school-room, Father of all! When day is done, in twilight's gloom, We pass into thy presence-room. Because from selfishness and wrath, Our cold and hot extremes of ill, We grope and stagger on the path— Thou tell'st us from thy holy hill, With icy storms and sunshine rude, That we are all unripe in good. Because of snaky things that creep Through our soul's sea, dim-undulant, Thou fill'st the mystery of thy deep With faces heartless, grim, and gaunt; That we may know how ugly seem The things our spirit-oceans teem. Because of half-way things that hold Good names, and have a poisonous breath— Prudence that is but trust in gold, And faith that is but fear of death— Amongst thy flowers, the lovely brood, Thou sendest some that are not good. Thou stay'st thy hand from finishing things To make thy child love the complete; Full many a flower comes up thy springs Unshamed in imperfection sweet; That through good all, and good in part, Thy work be perfect in the heart. Because, in careless confidence, So oft we leave the narrow way, Its borders thorny hedges fence, Beyond them marshy deeps affray; But farther on, the heavenly road Lies through the gardens of our God. Because thy sheep so often will Forsake the meadow cool and damp To climb the stony, grassless hill, Or wallow in the slimy swamp, Thy sicknesses, where'er they roam, Go after them to bring them home. One day, all fear, all ugliness, All pain, all discord, dumb or loud, All selfishness, and all distress, Will melt like low-spread morning cloud, And heart and brain be free from thrall, Because thou, God, art all in all!SAINT PETER
O Peter, wherefore didst thou doubt? Indeed the spray flew fast about, But he was there whose walking foot Could make the wandering hills take root; And he had said, "Come down to me," Else hadst thou not set foot on sea! Christ did not call thee to thy grave! Was it the boat that made thee brave? "Easy for thee who wast not there To think thou more than I couldst dare! It hardly fits thee though to mock Scared as thou wast that railway shock! Who saidst this morn, 'Wife, we must go— The plague will soon be here, I know!' Who, when thy child slept—not to death— Saidst, 'Life is now not worth a breath!'" Saint Peter, thou rebukest well! It needs no tempest me to quell, Not even a spent lash of its spray! Things far too little to affray Will wake the doubt that's worst of all— Is there a God to hear me call? But if he be, I never think That he will hear and let me sink! Lord of my little faith, my Lord, Help me to fear nor fire nor sword; Let not the cross itself appall Which bore thee, Life and Lord of all; Let reeling brain nor fainting heart Wipe out the soreness that thou art; Dwell farther in than doubt can go, And make I hope become I know. Then, sure, if thou should please to say, "Come to my side," some stormy way, My feet, atoning to thy will, Shall, heaved and tossed, walk toward thee still; No heart of lead shall sink me where Prudence lies crowned with cold despair, But I shall reach and clasp thy hand, And on the sea forget the land!ZACCHAEUS
To whom the heavy burden clings, It yet may serve him like a staff; One day the cross will break in wings, The sinner laugh a holy laugh. The dwarfed Zacchaeus climbed a tree, His humble stature set him high; The Lord the little man did see Who sought the great man passing by. Up to the tree he came, and stopped: "To-day," he said, "with thee I bide." A spirit-shaken fruit he dropped, Ripe for the Master, at his side. Sure never host with gladder look A welcome guest home with him bore! Then rose the Satan of rebuke And loudly spake beside the door: "This is no place for holy feet; Sinners should house and eat alone! This man sits in the stranger's seat And grinds the faces of his own!" Outspoke the man, in Truth's own might: "Lord, half my goods I give the poor; If one I've taken more than right With four I make atonement sure!" "Salvation here is entered in; This man indeed is Abraham's son!" Said he who came the lost to win— And saved the lost whom he had won.AFTER THOMAS KEMPIS
I
Who follows Jesus shall not walk In darksome road with danger rife; But in his heart the Truth will talk, And on his way will shine the Life. So, on the story we must pore Of him who lives for us, and died, That we may see him walk before, And know the Father in the guide.II
In words of truth Christ all excels, Leaves all his holy ones behind; And he in whom his spirit dwells Their hidden manna sure shall find. Gather wouldst thou the perfect grains, And Jesus fully understand? Thou must obey him with huge pains, And to God's will be as Christ's hand.III
What profits it to reason high And in hard questions court dispute, When thou dost lack humility, Displeasing God at very root! Profoundest words man ever spake Not once of blame washed any clear; A simple life alone could make Nathanael to his master dear.IV
The eye with seeing is not filled, The ear with hearing not at rest; Desire with having is not stilled; With human praise no heart is blest. Vanity, then, of vanities All things for which men grasp and grope! The precious things in heavenly eyes Are love, and truth, and trust, and hope.V
Better the clown who God doth love Than he that high can go And name each little star above But sees not God below! What if all things on earth I knew, Yea, love were all my creed, It serveth nothing with the True; He goes by heart and deed.VI
If thou dost think thy knowledge good, Thy intellect not slow, Bethink thee of the multitude Of things thou dost not know. Why look on any from on high Because thou knowest more? Thou need'st but look abroad, to spy Ten thousand thee before. Wouldst thou in knowledge true advance And gather learning's fruit, In love confess thy ignorance, And thy Self-love confute.VII
This is the highest learning, The hardest and the best— From self to keep still turning, And honour all the rest. If one should break the letter, Yea, spirit of command, Think not that thou art better, Thou may'st not always stand! We all are weak—but weaker Hold no one than thou art; Then, as thou growest meeker, Higher will go thy heart.VIII
Sense and judgment oft indeed Spy but little and mislead, Ground us on a shelf! Happy he whom Truth doth teach, Not by forms of passing speech, But her very self! Why of hidden things dispute, Mind unwise, howe'er astute, Making that thy task Where the Judge will, at the last, When disputing all is past, Not a question ask? Folly great it is to brood Over neither bad nor good, Eyes and ears unheedful! Ears and eyes, ah, open wide For what may be heard or spied Of the one thing needful!TO AND OF FRIENDS
TO LADY NOEL BYRON
Men sought, ambition's thirst to slake, The lost elixir old Whose magic touch should instant make The meaner metals gold. A nobler alchymy is thine Which love from pain doth press: Gold in thy hand becomes divine, Grows truth and tenderness.TO THE SAME
TO AURELIO SAFFI
To God and man be simply true; Do as thou hast been wont to do; Bring out thy treasures, old and new— Mean all the same when said to you. I love thee: thou art calm and strong; Firm in the right, mild to the wrong; Thy heart, in every raging throng, A chamber shut for prayer and song. Defeat thou know'st not, canst not know, Although thy aims so lofty go They need as long to root and grow As infant hills to reach the snow. Press on and prosper, holy friend! I, weak and ignorant, would lend A voice, thee, strong and wise, to send Prospering onward without end.A THANKSGIVING FOR F. D. MAURICE
The veil hath lifted and hath fallen; and him Who next it stood before us, first so long, We see not; but between the cherubim The light burns clearer: come—a thankful song! Lord, for thy prophet's calm commanding voice, For his majestic innocence and truth, For his unswerving purity of choice, For all his tender wrath and plenteous ruth; For his obedient, wise, clear-listening care To hear for us what word The Word would say, For all the trembling fervency of prayer With which he led our souls the prayerful way; For all the heavenly glory of his face That caught the white Transfiguration's shine And cast on us the reflex of thy grace— Of all thy men late left, the most divine; For all his learning, and the thought of power That seized thy one Idea everywhere, Brought the eternal down into the hour, And taught the dead thy life to claim and share; For his humility, dove-clear of guile;— The sin denouncing, he, like thy great Paul, Still claimed in it the greatest share, the while Our eyes, love-sharpened, saw him best of all! For his high victories over sin and fear, The captive hope his words of truth set free; For his abiding memory, holy, dear; Last, for his death and hiding now in thee, We praise, we magnify thee, Lord of him: Thou hast him still; he ever was thine own; Nor shall our tears prevail the path to dim That leads where, lowly still, he haunts thy throne. When thou, O Lord, ascendedst up on high Good gifts thou sentest down to cheer thy men: Lo, he ascends!—we follow with the cry, His spirit send thou back in thine again.GEORGE ROLLESTON
Dead art thou? No more dead than was the maid Over whose couch the saving God did stand— "She is not dead but sleepeth," said, And took her by the hand! Thee knowledge never from Life's pathway wiled, But following still where life's great father led, He turned, and taking up his child, Raised thee too from the dead, O living, thou hast passed thy second birth, Found all things new, and some things lovely strange; But thou wilt not forget the earth, Or in thy loving change!TO GORDON, LEAVING KHARTOUM
The silence of traitorous feet! The silence of close-pent rage! The roar, and the sudden heart-beat! And the shot through the true heart going, The truest heart of the age! And the Nile serenely flowing! Carnage and curses and cries! He utters never a word; Still as a child he lies; The wind of the desert is blowing Across the dead man of the Lord; And the Nile is softly flowing. But the song is stilled in heaven To welcome one more king: For the truth he hath witnessed and striven, And let the world go crowing, And Mammon's church-bell go ring, And the Nile blood-red go flowing! Man who hated the sword Yet wielded the sword and axe— Farewell, O arm of the Lord, The Lord's own harvest mowing— With a wind in the smoking flax Where our foul rivers are flowing! In war thou didst cherish peace, Thou slewest for love of life: Hail, hail thy stormy release Go home and await thy sowing, The patient flower of thy strife, Thy bread on the Nile cast flowing. Not thy earth to our earth alone, Thy spirit is left with us! Thy body is victory's throne, And our hearts around it are glowing: Would that we others died thus Where the Thames and the Clyde are flowing!SONG OF THE SAINTS AND ANGELS,
FAILURE
Farewell, O Arm of the Lord! Man who hated the sword, Yet struck and spared not the thing abhorred! Farewell, O word of the Word! Man who knew no failure But the failure of the Lord!TO E. G., DEDICATING A BOOK
A broken tale of endless things, Take, lady: thou art not of those Who in what vale a fountain springs Would have its journey close. Countless beginnings, fair first parts, Leap to the light, and shining flow; All broken things, or toys or hearts, Are mended where they go. Then down thy stream, with hope-filled sail, Float faithful fearless on, loved friend; 'Tis God that has begun the tale And does not mean to end.TO G. M. T
The sun is sinking in the west, Long grow the shadows dim; Have patience, sister, to be blest, Wait patiently for Him. Thou knowest love, much love hast had, Great things of love mayst tell, Ought'st never to be very sad For thou too hast lov'd well. His house thou know'st, who on the brink Of death loved more than thou, Loved more than thy great heart can think, And just as then loves now— In that great house is one who waits For thy slow-coming foot; Glad is he with his angel-mates Yet often listens mute, For he of all men loves thee best: He haunts the heavenly clock; Ah, he has long been up and drest To open to thy knock! Fear not, doubt not because of those On whom earth's keen winds blow; God's love shames all our pitying woes, Be ready thou to go. Forsaken dream not hearts which here Bask in no sunny shine; Each shall one coming day be dear To love as good as thine.IN MEMORIUM
LADY CAROLINE CHARTERIS
The mountain-stream may humbly boast For her the loud waves call; The hamlet feeds the nation's host, The home-farm feeds the hall; And unto earth heaven's Lord doth lend The right, of high import, The gladsome privilege to send New courtiers to Love's court. Not strange to thee, O lady dear, Life in that palace fair, For thou while waiting with us here Didst just as they do there! Thy heart still open to receive, Open thy hand to give, God had thee graced with more than leave In heavenly state to live! And though thou art gone up so high Thou art not gone so far But that thy love to us comes nigh, As starlight from a star. And ours must reach where'er thou art, In far or near abode, For God is of all love the heart, And we are all in God. END OF VOL. I
