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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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If thou hadst been a sculptor, what a race Of forms divine had thenceforth filled the land! Methinks I see thee, glorious workman, stand, Striking a marble window through blind space-- Thy face's reflex on the coming face, As dawns the stone to statue 'neath thy hand-- Body obedient to its soul's command, Which is thy thought, informing it with grace! So had it been. But God, who quickeneth clay, Nor turneth it to marble--maketh eyes, Not shadowy hollows, where no sunbeams play-- Would mould his loftiest thought in human guise: Thou didst appear, walking unknown abroad, God's living sculpture, all-informed of God.

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