The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 2 - George MacDonald (list of e readers TXT) 📗
- Author: George MacDonald
Book online «The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 2 - George MacDonald (list of e readers TXT) 📗». Author George MacDonald
there.
The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,
Will forge three anchors rare; The hemp thou shalt pull, thou shalt shear the wool,
And the maidens will bring their hair.
Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one strand,
Of the hair that is raven another; Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band
To bind the one to the other!
The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,
They forged three anchors rare; The hemp he did pull, and he shore the wool,
And the maidens brought their hair.
He twisted the brown hair for one strand,
The raven hair for another; He twined the golden hair in a band
To bind the one to the other.
He took the cables of hemp and wool.
He took the cable of hair, He hied him back to the roaring pool,
He cast the three anchors there.
The whirlpool roared, and the day went by,
And night came down on the sea; But or ever the morning broke the sky
The hemp was broken in three.
The night it came down, the whirlpool it ran,
The wind it fiercely blew; And or ever the second morning began
The wool it parted in two.
The storm it roared all day the third,
The whirlpool wallowed about, The night came down like a wild black bird,
But the cable of hair held out.
Round and round with a giddy swing
Went the sea-king through the dark; Round went the rope in the swivel-ring,
Round reeled the straining bark.
Prince Breacan he stood on his dragon prow,
A lantern in his hand: Blest be the maidens of Denmark now,
By them shall Denmark stand!
He watched the rope through the tempest black
A lantern in his hold: Out, out, alack! one strand will crack!
It is the strand of gold!
The third morn clear and calm came out:
No anchored ship was there! The golden strand in the cable stout
Was not all of maidens' hair.
THE DEAD HAND .
The witch lady walked along the strand,
Heard a roaring of the sea, On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand,
Good thing for a witch lady!
Lightly she stepped across the rocks,
Came where the dead man lay: Now pretty maid with your merry mocks,
Now I shall have my way!
On a finger shone a sapphire blue
In the heart of six rubies red: Come back to me, my promise true,
Come back, my ring, she said.
She took the dead hand in the live,
And at the ring drew she; The dead hand closed its fingers five,
And it held the witch lady.
She swore the storm was not her deed,
Dark spells she backward spoke; If the dead man heard he took no heed,
But held like a cloven oak.
Deathly cold, crept up the tide,
Sure of her, made no haste; Crept up to her knees, crept up each side,
Crept up to her wicked waist.
Over the blue sea sailed the bride
In her love's own sailing ship, And the witch she saw them across the tide
As it rose to her lying lip.
Oh, the heart of the dead and the hand of the dead
Are strong hasps they to hold! Fled the true dove with the kite's new love,
And left the false kite with the old.
MINOR DITTIES.
IN THE NIGHT .
As to her child a mother calls, "Come to me, child; come near!" Calling, in silent intervals, The Master's voice I hear.
But does he call me verily? To have me does he care? Why should he seek my poverty, My selfishness so bare?
The dear voice makes his gladness brim, But not a child can know Why that large woman cares for him, Why she should love him so!
Lord, to thy call of me I bow, Obey like Abraham: Thou lov'st me because thou art thou, And I am what I am!
Doubt whispers, Thou art such a blot He cannot love poor thee : If what I am he loveth not, He loves what I shall be.
Nay, that which can be drawn and wooed, And turned away from ill, Is what his father made for good: He loves me, I say still!
THE GIVER.
To give a thing and take again Is counted meanness among men; To take away what once is given Cannot then be the way of heaven!
But human hearts are crumbly stuff, And never, never love enough, Therefore God takes and, with a smile, Puts our best things away a while.
Thereon some weep, some rave, some scorn, Some wish they never had been born; Some humble grow at last and still, And then God gives them what they will.
FALSE PROPHETS.
Would-be prophets tell us We shall not re-know Them that walked our fellows In the ways below!
Smoking, smouldering Tophets Steaming hopeless plaints! Dreary, mole-eyed prophets! Mean, skin-pledging saints!
Knowing not the Father What their prophecies! Grapes of such none gather, Only thorns and lies.
Loving thus the brother, How the Father tell? Go without each other To your heavenly hell!
LIFE-WEARY .
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, No truant beam from fire or candle shine?
At his wide door the host doth stand and call; At every lattice gracious forms invite; Thou seest but a dull-gray, solid wall In forest sullen with the things of night!
Thou cravest rest, and Rest for thee doth crave, The white sheet folded down, white robe apart.- Shame, Faithless! No, I do not mean the grave! I mean Love's very house and hearth and heart.
APPROACHES .
When thou turn'st away from ill, Christ is this side of thy hill.
When thou turnest toward good, Christ is walking in thy wood.
When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!" Then the Lord is in thy garden.
When stern Duty wakes to watch, Then his hand is on the latch.
But when Hope thy song doth rouse, Then the Lord is in the house.
When to love is all thy wit, Christ doth at thy table sit.
When God's will is thy heart's pole, Then is Christ thy very soul.
TRAVELLERS' SONG .
Bands of dark and bands of light Lie athwart the homeward way; Now we cross a belt of Night, Now a strip of shining Day!
Now it is a month of June, Now December's shivering hour; Now rides high loved memories' Moon, Now the Dark is dense with power!
Summers, winters, days, and nights, Moons, and clouds, they come and go; Joys and sorrows, pains, delights, Hope and fear, and yes and no .
All is well: come, girls and boys, Not a weary mile is vain! Hark-dim laughter's radiant noise! See the windows through the rain!
LOVE IS STRENGTH .
Love alone is great in might, Makes the heavy burden light, Smooths rough ways to weary feet, Makes the bitter morsel sweet: Love alone is strength!
Might that is not born of Love Is not Might born from above, Has its birthplace down below Where they neither reap nor sow: Love alone is strength!
Love is stronger than all force, Is its own eternal source; Might is always in decay, Love grows fresher every day: Love alone is strength!
Little ones, no ill can chance; Fear ye not, but sing and dance; Though the high-heaved heaven should fall God is plenty for us all: God is Love and Strength!
COMING .
When the snow is on the earth Birds and waters cease their mirth; When the sunlight is prevailing Even the night-winds drop their wailing.
On the earth when deep snows lie Still the sun is in the sky, And when most we miss his fire He is ever drawing nigher.
In the darkest winter day Thou, God, art not far away; When the nights grow colder, drearer, Father, thou art coming nearer!
For thee coming I would watch With my hand upon the latch- Of the door, I mean, that faces Out upon the eternal spaces!
SONG OF THE WAITING DEAD .
With us there is no gray fearing, With us no aching for lack! For the morn it is always nearing, And the night is at our back. At times a song will fall dumb, A thought-bell burst in a sigh, But no one says, "He will not come!" She says, "He is almost nigh!"
The thing you call a sorrow Is our delight on its way: We know that the coming morrow Comes on the wheels of to-day! Our Past is a child asleep; Delay is ripening the kiss; The rising tear we will not weep Until it flow for bliss.
OBEDIENCE .
Trust him in the common light; Trust him in the awesome night;
Trust him when the earth doth quake: Trust him when thy heart doth ache;
Trust him when thy brain doth reel And thy friend turns on his heel;
Trust him when the way is rough, Cry not yet, It is enough !
But obey with true endeavour, Else the salt hath lost his savour.
A SONG IN THE NIGHT .
I would I were an angel strong, An angel of the sun, hasting along!
I would I were just come awake, A child outbursting from night's dusky brake!
Or lark whose inward, upward fate Mocks every wall that masks the heavenly gate!
Or hopeful cock whose clarion clear Shrills ten times ere a film of dawn appear!
Or but a glowworm: even then My light would come straight from the Light of Men!
I am a dead seed, dark and slow: Father of larks and children, make me grow.
DE PROFUNDIS .
When I am dead unto myself, and let, O Father, thee live on in me, Contented to do nought but pay my debt, And leave the house to thee,
Then shall I be thy ransomed-from the cark Of living, from the strain for breath, From tossing in my coffin strait and dark, At hourly strife with death!
Have mercy! in my coffin! and awake! A buried temple of the Lord! Grow, Temple, grow! Heart, from thy cerements break! Stream out, O living Sword!
When I am with thee as thou art with me, Life will be self-forgetting power; Love, ever conscious, buoyant, clear, and free, Will flame in darkest hour.
Where now I sit alone, unmoving, calm, With windows open to thy wind, Shall I not know thee in the radiant psalm Soaring from heart and mind?
The body of this death will melt away, And I shall know as I am
The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,
Will forge three anchors rare; The hemp thou shalt pull, thou shalt shear the wool,
And the maidens will bring their hair.
Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one strand,
Of the hair that is raven another; Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band
To bind the one to the other!
The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule,
They forged three anchors rare; The hemp he did pull, and he shore the wool,
And the maidens brought their hair.
He twisted the brown hair for one strand,
The raven hair for another; He twined the golden hair in a band
To bind the one to the other.
He took the cables of hemp and wool.
He took the cable of hair, He hied him back to the roaring pool,
He cast the three anchors there.
The whirlpool roared, and the day went by,
And night came down on the sea; But or ever the morning broke the sky
The hemp was broken in three.
The night it came down, the whirlpool it ran,
The wind it fiercely blew; And or ever the second morning began
The wool it parted in two.
The storm it roared all day the third,
The whirlpool wallowed about, The night came down like a wild black bird,
But the cable of hair held out.
Round and round with a giddy swing
Went the sea-king through the dark; Round went the rope in the swivel-ring,
Round reeled the straining bark.
Prince Breacan he stood on his dragon prow,
A lantern in his hand: Blest be the maidens of Denmark now,
By them shall Denmark stand!
He watched the rope through the tempest black
A lantern in his hold: Out, out, alack! one strand will crack!
It is the strand of gold!
The third morn clear and calm came out:
No anchored ship was there! The golden strand in the cable stout
Was not all of maidens' hair.
THE DEAD HAND .
The witch lady walked along the strand,
Heard a roaring of the sea, On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand,
Good thing for a witch lady!
Lightly she stepped across the rocks,
Came where the dead man lay: Now pretty maid with your merry mocks,
Now I shall have my way!
On a finger shone a sapphire blue
In the heart of six rubies red: Come back to me, my promise true,
Come back, my ring, she said.
She took the dead hand in the live,
And at the ring drew she; The dead hand closed its fingers five,
And it held the witch lady.
She swore the storm was not her deed,
Dark spells she backward spoke; If the dead man heard he took no heed,
But held like a cloven oak.
Deathly cold, crept up the tide,
Sure of her, made no haste; Crept up to her knees, crept up each side,
Crept up to her wicked waist.
Over the blue sea sailed the bride
In her love's own sailing ship, And the witch she saw them across the tide
As it rose to her lying lip.
Oh, the heart of the dead and the hand of the dead
Are strong hasps they to hold! Fled the true dove with the kite's new love,
And left the false kite with the old.
MINOR DITTIES.
IN THE NIGHT .
As to her child a mother calls, "Come to me, child; come near!" Calling, in silent intervals, The Master's voice I hear.
But does he call me verily? To have me does he care? Why should he seek my poverty, My selfishness so bare?
The dear voice makes his gladness brim, But not a child can know Why that large woman cares for him, Why she should love him so!
Lord, to thy call of me I bow, Obey like Abraham: Thou lov'st me because thou art thou, And I am what I am!
Doubt whispers, Thou art such a blot He cannot love poor thee : If what I am he loveth not, He loves what I shall be.
Nay, that which can be drawn and wooed, And turned away from ill, Is what his father made for good: He loves me, I say still!
THE GIVER.
To give a thing and take again Is counted meanness among men; To take away what once is given Cannot then be the way of heaven!
But human hearts are crumbly stuff, And never, never love enough, Therefore God takes and, with a smile, Puts our best things away a while.
Thereon some weep, some rave, some scorn, Some wish they never had been born; Some humble grow at last and still, And then God gives them what they will.
FALSE PROPHETS.
Would-be prophets tell us We shall not re-know Them that walked our fellows In the ways below!
Smoking, smouldering Tophets Steaming hopeless plaints! Dreary, mole-eyed prophets! Mean, skin-pledging saints!
Knowing not the Father What their prophecies! Grapes of such none gather, Only thorns and lies.
Loving thus the brother, How the Father tell? Go without each other To your heavenly hell!
LIFE-WEARY .
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, No truant beam from fire or candle shine?
At his wide door the host doth stand and call; At every lattice gracious forms invite; Thou seest but a dull-gray, solid wall In forest sullen with the things of night!
Thou cravest rest, and Rest for thee doth crave, The white sheet folded down, white robe apart.- Shame, Faithless! No, I do not mean the grave! I mean Love's very house and hearth and heart.
APPROACHES .
When thou turn'st away from ill, Christ is this side of thy hill.
When thou turnest toward good, Christ is walking in thy wood.
When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!" Then the Lord is in thy garden.
When stern Duty wakes to watch, Then his hand is on the latch.
But when Hope thy song doth rouse, Then the Lord is in the house.
When to love is all thy wit, Christ doth at thy table sit.
When God's will is thy heart's pole, Then is Christ thy very soul.
TRAVELLERS' SONG .
Bands of dark and bands of light Lie athwart the homeward way; Now we cross a belt of Night, Now a strip of shining Day!
Now it is a month of June, Now December's shivering hour; Now rides high loved memories' Moon, Now the Dark is dense with power!
Summers, winters, days, and nights, Moons, and clouds, they come and go; Joys and sorrows, pains, delights, Hope and fear, and yes and no .
All is well: come, girls and boys, Not a weary mile is vain! Hark-dim laughter's radiant noise! See the windows through the rain!
LOVE IS STRENGTH .
Love alone is great in might, Makes the heavy burden light, Smooths rough ways to weary feet, Makes the bitter morsel sweet: Love alone is strength!
Might that is not born of Love Is not Might born from above, Has its birthplace down below Where they neither reap nor sow: Love alone is strength!
Love is stronger than all force, Is its own eternal source; Might is always in decay, Love grows fresher every day: Love alone is strength!
Little ones, no ill can chance; Fear ye not, but sing and dance; Though the high-heaved heaven should fall God is plenty for us all: God is Love and Strength!
COMING .
When the snow is on the earth Birds and waters cease their mirth; When the sunlight is prevailing Even the night-winds drop their wailing.
On the earth when deep snows lie Still the sun is in the sky, And when most we miss his fire He is ever drawing nigher.
In the darkest winter day Thou, God, art not far away; When the nights grow colder, drearer, Father, thou art coming nearer!
For thee coming I would watch With my hand upon the latch- Of the door, I mean, that faces Out upon the eternal spaces!
SONG OF THE WAITING DEAD .
With us there is no gray fearing, With us no aching for lack! For the morn it is always nearing, And the night is at our back. At times a song will fall dumb, A thought-bell burst in a sigh, But no one says, "He will not come!" She says, "He is almost nigh!"
The thing you call a sorrow Is our delight on its way: We know that the coming morrow Comes on the wheels of to-day! Our Past is a child asleep; Delay is ripening the kiss; The rising tear we will not weep Until it flow for bliss.
OBEDIENCE .
Trust him in the common light; Trust him in the awesome night;
Trust him when the earth doth quake: Trust him when thy heart doth ache;
Trust him when thy brain doth reel And thy friend turns on his heel;
Trust him when the way is rough, Cry not yet, It is enough !
But obey with true endeavour, Else the salt hath lost his savour.
A SONG IN THE NIGHT .
I would I were an angel strong, An angel of the sun, hasting along!
I would I were just come awake, A child outbursting from night's dusky brake!
Or lark whose inward, upward fate Mocks every wall that masks the heavenly gate!
Or hopeful cock whose clarion clear Shrills ten times ere a film of dawn appear!
Or but a glowworm: even then My light would come straight from the Light of Men!
I am a dead seed, dark and slow: Father of larks and children, make me grow.
DE PROFUNDIS .
When I am dead unto myself, and let, O Father, thee live on in me, Contented to do nought but pay my debt, And leave the house to thee,
Then shall I be thy ransomed-from the cark Of living, from the strain for breath, From tossing in my coffin strait and dark, At hourly strife with death!
Have mercy! in my coffin! and awake! A buried temple of the Lord! Grow, Temple, grow! Heart, from thy cerements break! Stream out, O living Sword!
When I am with thee as thou art with me, Life will be self-forgetting power; Love, ever conscious, buoyant, clear, and free, Will flame in darkest hour.
Where now I sit alone, unmoving, calm, With windows open to thy wind, Shall I not know thee in the radiant psalm Soaring from heart and mind?
The body of this death will melt away, And I shall know as I am
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