Read the book: «The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1», page 23

A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS

 
  Hark, in the steeple the dull bell swinging
      Over the furrows ill ploughed by Death!
  Hark the bird-babble, the loud lark singing!
      Hark, from the sky, what the prophet saith!
 
 
  Hark, in the pines, the free Wind, complaining—
      Moaning, and murmuring, "Life is bare!"
  Hark, in the organ, the caught Wind, outstraining,
      Jubilant rise in a soaring prayer!
 
 
  Toll for the burying, sexton tolling!
      Sing for the second birth, angel Lark!
  Moan, ye poor Pines, with the Past condoling!
      Burst out, brave Organ, and kill the Dark!
 

II

 
  Sit on the ground, and immure thy sorrow;
      I will give freedom to mine in song!
  Haunt thou the tomb, and deny the morrow;
      I will go watch in the dawning long!
 
 
  For I shall see them, and know their faces—
      Tenderer, sweeter, and shining more;
  Clasp the old self in the new embraces;
      Gaze through their eyes' wide open door.
 
 
  Loved ones, I come to you: see my sadness;
      I am ashamed—but you pardon wrong!
  Smile the old smile, and my soul's new gladness
      Straight will arise in sorrow and song!
 

TO MY AGING FRIENDS

 
  It is no winter night comes down
      Upon our hearts, dear friends of old;
  But a May evening, softly brown,
      Whose wind is rather cold.
 
 
  We are not, like yon sad-eyed West,
      Phantoms that brood o'er Time's dust-hoard,
  We are like yon Moon—in mourning drest,
      But gazing on her lord.
 
 
  Come nearer to the hearth, sweet friends,
      Draw nigher, closer, hand and chair;
  Ours is a love that never ends,
      For God is dearest there!
 
 
  We will not talk about the past,
      We will not ponder ancient pain;
  Those are but deep foundations cast
      For peaks of soaring gain!
 
 
  We, waiting Dead, will warm our bones
      At our poor smouldering earthly fire;
  And talk of wide-eyed living ones
      Who have what we desire.
 
 
  O Living, ye know what is death—
      We, by and by, shall know it too!
  Humble, with bated, hoping breath,
      We are coming fast to you!
 

CHRISTMAS SONG OF THE OLD CHILDREN

 
  Well for youth to seek the strong,
      Beautiful, and brave!
  We, the old, who walk along
      Gently to the grave,
  Only pay our court to thee,
  Child of all Eternity!
 
 
  We are old who once were young,
      And we grow more old;
  Songs we are that have been sung,
      Tales that have been told;
  Yellow leaves, wind-blown to thee,
  Childhood of Eternity!
 
 
  If we come too sudden near,
      Lo, Earth's infant cries,
  For our faces wan and drear
      Have such withered eyes!
  Thou, Heaven's child, turn'st not away
  From the wrinkled ones who pray!
 
 
  Smile upon us with thy mouth
      And thine eyes of grace;
  On our cold north breathe thy south.
      Thaw the frozen face:
  Childhood all from thee doth flow—
  Melt to song our age's snow.
 
 
  Gray-haired children come in crowds,
      Thee, their Hope, to greet:
  Is it swaddling clothes or shrouds
      Hampering so our feet?
  Eldest child, the shadows gloom:
  Take the aged children home.
 
 
  We have had enough of play,
      And the wood grows drear;
  Many who at break of day
      Companied us here—
  They have vanished out of sight,
  Gone and met the coming light!
 
 
  Fair is this out-world of thine,
      But its nights are cold;
  And the sun that makes it fine
      Makes us soon so old!
  Long its shadows grow and dim—
  Father, take us back with him!
 

1891.

CHRISTMAS MEDITATION

 
  He who by a mother's love
      Made the wandering world his own,
  Every year comes from above,
      Comes the parted to atone,
      Binding Earth to the Father's throne.
 
 
  Nay, thou comest every day!
      No, thou never didst depart!
  Never hour hast been away!
      Always with us, Lord, thou art,
      Binding, binding heart to heart!
 

THE OLD CASTLE

 
  The brother knew well the castle old,
      Every closet, each outlook fair,
  Every turret and bartizan bold,
      Every chamber, garnished or bare.
      The brother was out in the heavenly air;
  Little ones lost the starry way,
      Wandered down the dungeon stair.
  The brother missed them, and on the clay
      Of the dungeon-floor he found them all.
      Up they jumped when they heard him call!
  He led the little ones into the day—
  Out and up to the sunshine gay,
      Up to the father's own door-sill—
        In at the father's own room door,
  There to be merry and work and play,
      There to come and go at their will,
        Good boys and girls to be lost no more!
 

CHRISTMAS PRAYER

 
  Cold my heart, and poor, and low,
      Like thy stable in the rock;
  Do not let it orphan go,
      It is of thy parent stock!
  Come thou in, and it will grow
      High and wide, a fane divine;
  Like the ruby it will glow,
      Like the diamond shine!
 

SONG OF THE INNOCENTS

 
  Merry, merry we well may be,
  For Jesus Christ is come down to see:
  Long before, at the top of the stair,
  He set our angels a waiting there,
  Waiting hither and thither to fly,
  Tending the children of the sky,
  Lest they dash little feet against big stones,
  And tumble down and break little bones;
  For the path is rough, and we must not roam;
  We have learned to walk, and must follow him home!
 

CHRISTMAS DAY AND EVERY DAY

 
  Star high,
  Baby low:
  'Twixt the two
  Wise men go;
  Find the baby,
  Grasp the star—
  Heirs of all things
  Near and far!
 

THE CHILDREN'S HEAVEN

 
  The infant lies in blessed ease
      Upon his mother's breast;
  No storm, no dark, the baby sees
      Invade his heaven of rest.
  He nothing knows of change or death—
      Her face his holy skies;
  The air he breathes, his mother's breath;
      His stars, his mother's eyes!
 
 
  Yet half the soft winds wandering there
      Are sighs that come of fears;
  The dew slow falling through that air—
      It is the dew of tears;
  And ah, my child, thy heavenly home
      Hath storms as well as dew;
  Black clouds fill sometimes all its dome,
      And quench the starry blue!
 
 
  "My smile would win no smile again,
      If baby saw the things
  That ache across his mother's brain
      The while to him she sings!
  Thy faith in me is faith in vain—
      I am not what I seem:
  O dreary day, O cruel pain,
      That wakes thee from thy dream!"
 
 
  Nay, pity not his dreams so fair,
      Fear thou no waking grief;
  Oh, safer he than though thou were
      Good as his vague belief!
  There is a heaven that heaven above
      Whereon he gazes now;
  A truer love than in thy kiss;
      A better friend than thou!
 
 
  The Father's arms fold like a nest
      Both thee and him about;
  His face looks down, a heaven of rest,
      Where comes no dark, no doubt.
  Its mists are clouds of stars that move
      On, on, with progress rife;
  Its winds, the goings of his love;
      Its dew, the dew of life.
 
 
  We for our children seek thy heart,
      For them we lift our eyes:
  Lord, should their faith in us depart,
      Let faith in thee arise.
  When childhood's visions them forsake,
      To women grown and men,
  Back to thy heart their hearts oh take,
      And bid them dream again.
 

REJOICE

 
  "Rejoice," said the Sun; "I will make thee gay
  With glory and gladness and holiday;
  I am dumb, O man, and I need thy voice!"
  But man would not rejoice.
 
 
  "Rejoice in thyself," said he, "O Sun,
  For thy daily course is a lordly one;
  In thy lofty place rejoice if thou can:
  For me, I am only a man."
 
 
  "Rejoice," said the Wind; "I am free and strong,
  And will wake in thy heart an ancient song;
  Hear the roaring woods, my organ noise!"
  But man would not rejoice.
 
 
  "Rejoice, O Wind, in thy strength," said he,
  "For thou fulfillest thy destiny;
  Shake the forest, the faint flowers fan;
  For me, I am only a man."
 
 
  "Rejoice," said the Night, "with moon and star,
  For the Sun and the Wind are gone afar;
  I am here with rest and dreaming choice!"
  But man would not rejoice;
 
 
  For he said—"What is rest to me, I pray,
  Whose labour leads to no gladsome day?
  He only can dream who has hope behind:
  Alas for me and my kind!"
 
 
  Then a voice that came not from moon or star,
  From the sun, or the wind that roved afar,
  Said, "Man, I am with thee—hear my voice!"
  And man said, "I rejoice."
 

THE GRACE OF GRACE

 
  Had I the grace to win the grace
      Of some old man in lore complete,
  My face would worship at his face,
      And I sit lowly at his feet.
 
 
  Had I the grace to win the grace
      Of childhood, loving shy, apart,
  The child should find a nearer place,
      And teach me resting on my heart.
 
 
  Had I the grace to win the grace
      Of maiden living all above,
  My soul would trample down the base,
      That she might have a man to love.
 
 
  A grace I had no grace to win
      Knocks now at my half open door:
  Ah, Lord of glory, come thou in!—
      Thy grace divine is all, and more.
 

ANTIPHON

 
  Daylight fades away.
      Is the Lord at hand
  In the shadows gray
      Stealing on the land?
 
 
        Gently from the east
          Come the shadows gray;
        But our lowly priest
          Nearer is than they.
 
 
  It is darkness quite.
      Is the Lord at hand,
  In the cloak of night
      Stolen upon the land?
 
 
        But I see no night,
          For my Lord is here
        With him dark is light,
          With him far is near.
 
 
  List! the cock's awake.
      Is the Lord at hand?
  Cometh he to make
      Light in all the land?
 
 
        Long ago he made
          Morning in my heart;
        Long ago he bade
          Shadowy things depart.
 
 
  Lo, the dawning hill!
      Is the Lord at hand,
  Come to scatter ill,
      Ruling in the land?
 
 
        He hath scattered ill,
          Ruling in my mind;
        Growing to his will,
          Freedom comes, I find.
 
 
  We will watch all day,
      Lest the Lord should come;
  All night waking stay
      In the darkness dumb.
 
 
        I will work all day,
          For the Lord hath come;
        Down my head will lay
          All night, glad and dumb.
 
 
  For we know not when
      Christ may be at hand;
  But we know that then
      Joy is in the land.
 
 
        For I know that where
          Christ hath come again,
        Quietness without care
          Dwelleth in his men.
 

DORCAS

 
  If I might guess, then guess I would
      That, mid the gathered folk,
  This gentle Dorcas one day stood,
      And heard when Jesus spoke.
 
 
  She saw the woven seamless coat—
      Half envious, for his sake:
  "Oh, happy hands," she said, "that wrought
      The honoured thing to make!"
 
 
  Her eyes with longing tears grow dim:
      She never can come nigh
  To work one service poor for him
      For whom she glad would die!
 
 
  But, hark, he speaks! Oh, precious word!
      And she has heard indeed!
  "When did we see thee naked, Lord,
      And clothed thee in thy need?"
 
 
  "The King shall answer, Inasmuch
      As to my brethren ye
  Did it—even to the least of such—
      Ye did it unto me."
 
 
  Home, home she went, and plied the loom,
      And Jesus' poor arrayed.
  She died—they wept about the room,
      And showed the coats she made.
 

MARRIAGE SONG

 
  "They have no more wine!" she said.
  But they had enough of bread;
  And the vessels by the door
  Held for thirst a plenteous store:
  Yes, enough; but Love divine
  Turned the water into wine!
 
 
  When should wine like water flow,
  But when home two glad hearts go!
  When, in sacred bondage bound,
  Soul in soul hath freedom found!
  Such the time when, holy sign,
  Jesus turned the water wine.
 
 
  Good is all the feasting then;
  Good the merry words of men;
  Good the laughter and the smiles;
  Good the wine that grief beguiles;—
  Crowning good, the Word divine
  Turning water into wine!
 
 
  Friends, the Master with you dwell!
  Daily work this miracle!
  When fair things too common grow,
  Bring again their heavenly show!
  Ever at your table dine,
  Turning water into wine!
 
 
  So at last you shall descry
  All the patterns of the sky:
  Earth a heaven of short abode;
  Houses temples unto God;
  Water-pots, to vision fine,
  Brimming full of heavenly wine.
 

BLIND BARTIMEUS

 
  As Jesus went into Jericho town,
  Twas darkness all, from toe to crown,
        About blind Bartimeus.
  He said, "My eyes are more than dim,
  They are no use for seeing him:
        No matter—he can see us!"
 
 
  "Cry out, cry out, blind brother—cry;
  Let not salvation dear go by.—
        Have mercy, Son of David."
  Though they were blind, they both could hear—
  They heard, and cried, and he drew near;
        And so the blind were saved.
 
 
  O Jesus Christ, I am very blind;
  Nothing comes through into my mind;
        'Tis well I am not dumb:
  Although I see thee not, nor hear,
  I cry because thou may'st be near:
        O son of Mary, come!
 
 
  I hear it through the all things blind:
  Is it thy voice, so gentle and kind—
        "Poor eyes, no more be dim"?
  A hand is laid upon mine eyes;
  I hear, and hearken, see, and rise;—
        'Tis He! I follow him!
 

COME UNTO ME

 
  Come unto me, the Master says:—
      But how? I am not good;
  No thankful song my heart will raise,
      Nor even wish it could.
 
 
  I am not sorry for the past,
      Nor able not to sin;
  The weary strife would ever last
      If once I should begin!
 
 
  Hast thou no burden then to bear?
      No action to repent?
  Is all around so very fair?
      Is thy heart quite content?
 
 
  Hast thou no sickness in thy soul?
      No labour to endure?
  Then go in peace, for thou art whole;
      Thou needest not his cure.
 
 
  Ah, mock me not! I often sigh;
      I have a nameless grief,
  A faint sad pain—but such that I
      Can look for no relief.
 
 
  Come, come to him who made thy heart;
      Come weary and oppressed;
  To come to Jesus is thy part,
      His part to give thee rest.
 
 
  New grief, new hope he will bestow,
      Thy grief and pain to quell;
  Into thy heart himself will go,
      And that will make thee well.