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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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"He is beside himself!" Dismayed, His mother, brothers talked: He from the well-known path had strayed In which their fathers walked!

With troubled hearts they sought him. Loud Some one the message bore:-- He stands within, amid a crowd, They at the open door:--

"Thy mother and thy brothers would Speak with thee. Lo, they stand Without and wait thee!" Like a flood Of sunrise on the land,

A new-born light his face o'erspread; Out from his eyes it poured; He lifted up that gracious head, Looked round him, took the word:

"My mother--brothers--who are they?" Hearest thou, Mary mild?
This is a sword that well may slay-- Disowned by thy child!

Ah, no! My brothers, sisters, hear-- They are our humble lord's! O mother, did they wound thy ear?-- We thank him for the words.

"Who are my friends?" Oh, hear him say, Stretching his hand abroad, "My mother, sisters, brothers, are they That do the will of God!"

My brother! Lord of life and me, If life might grow to this!-- Would it not, brother, sister, be Enough for all amiss?

Yea, mother, hear him and rejoice: Thou art his mother still,
But may'st be more--of thy own choice Doing his Father's will.

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!

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