A Hidden Life and Other Poems. George MacDonald

A SONG IN A DREAM.

       A THANKSGIVING.

       THE GOSPEL WOMEN.

       I.

       II.

       III.

       IV.

       V.

       VI.

       VII.

       VIII.

       IX.

       X.

       XI.

       XII.

       XIII.

       XIV.

       XV.

       XVI.

      I.

      Take of the first fruits, Father, of thy care,

       Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my gratitude

       Late waked for early gifts ill understood;

       Claiming in all my harvests rightful share,

       Whether with song that mounts the joyful air

       I praise my God; or, in yet deeper mood,

       Sit dumb because I know a speechless good,

       Needing no voice, but all the soul for prayer.

       Thou hast been faithful to my highest need;

       And I, thy debtor, ever, evermore,

       Shall never feel the grateful burden sore.

       Yet most I thank thee, not for any deed,

       But for the sense thy living self did breed

       That fatherhood is at the great world's core.

      II.

      All childhood, reverence clothed thee, undefined,

       As for some being of another race;

       Ah! not with it departing—grown apace

       As years have brought me manhood's loftier mind

       Able to see thy human life behind—

       The same hid heart, the same revealing face—

       My own dim contest settling into grace

       Of sorrow, strife, and victory combined.

       So I beheld my God, in childhood's morn,

       A mist, a darkness, great, and far apart,

       Moveless and dim—I scarce could say Thou art: My manhood came, of joy and sadness born— Full soon the misty dark, asunder torn, Revealed man's glory, God's great human heart.

      G.M.D. Jr.

      Algiers, April, 1857.

      A HIDDEN LIFE THE HOMELESS GHOST ABU MIDJAN AN OLD STORY A BOOK OP DREAMS TO AURELIO SAFFI SONNET A MEMORIAL OF AFRICA A GIFT THE MAN OF SONGS BETTER THINGS THE JOURNEY PRAYER REST TO A.J. SCOTT LIGHT TO A.J. SCOTT WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER IF I WERE A MONK, AND THOU WERT A NUN BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH THE HILLS I KNOW WHAT BEAUTY IS I WOULD I WERE A CHILD THE LOST SOUL A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM AFTER AN OLD LEGEND THE TREE'S PRAYER A STORY OF THE SEA SHORE MY HEART O DO NOT LEAVE ME THE HOLY SNOWDROPS TO MY SISTER O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH LONGING A BOY'S GRIEF THE CHILD-MOTHER LOVE'S ORDEAL A PRAYER FOR THE PAST FAR AND NEAR MY ROOM SYMPATHY LITTLE ELFIE THE THANK OFFERING THE BURNT OFFERING FOUR SONNETS SONNET EIGHTEEN SONNETS DEATH AND BIRTH

      EARLY POEMS.

      LONGING MY EYES MAKE PICTURES DEATH LESSONS FOR A CHILD HOPE DEFERRED THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR A SONG IN A DREAM A THANKSGIVING

      THE GOSPEL WOMEN.

      THE MOTHER MARY THE WOMAN THAT CRIED IN THE CROWD THE MOTHER OF ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN THE SYROPHENICIAN WOMAN THE WIDOW OF NAIN THE WOMAN WHOM SATAN HAD BOUND THE WOMAN WHO CAME BEHIND HIM IN THE CROWD THE WIDOW WITH THE TWO MITES THE WOMEN WHO MINISTERED UNTO HIM PILATE'S WIFE THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA MART MAGDALENE THE WOMAN IN THE TEMPLE MARTHA MARY THE WOMAN THAT WAS A SINNER

      POEMS.

       Table of Contents

      A HIDDEN LIFE.

      Proudly the youth, by manhood sudden crowned,

       Went walking by his horses to the plough,

       For the first time that morn. No soldier gay

       Feels at his side the throb of the gold hilt

       (Knowing the blue blade hides within its sheath,

       As lightning in the cloud) with more delight,

       When first he belts it on, than he that day

       Heard still the clank of the plough-chains against

       The horses' harnessed sides, as to the field

       They went to make it fruitful. O'er the hill

       The sun looked down, baptizing him for toil.

      A farmer's son he was, and grandson too;

       Yea, his great-grandsire had possessed these fields.

       Tradition said they had been tilled by men

       Who bore the name long centuries ago,

       And married wives, and reared a stalwart race,

       And died, and went where all had followed them,

       Save one old man, his daughter, and the youth

       Who ploughs in pride, nor ever doubts his toil;

       And death is far from him this sunny morn.

       Why should we think of death when life is high?

       The earth laughs all the day, and sleeps all night.

       Earth, give us food, and, after that, a grave;

       For both are good, each better in its time.

      The youth knew little; but he read old tales

       Of Scotland's warriors, till his blood ran swift

       As charging knights upon their death career.

       And then