The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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I.

The

times are changed, and gone the day When the high heavenly land,

Though unbeheld, quite near them lay,

And men could understand.

The

dead yet find it, who, when here, Did love it more than this;

They enter in, are filled with cheer,

And pain expires in bliss.

All glorious gleams the blessed land!--

O God, forgive, I pray:

The heart thou holdest in thy hand

Loves more this sunny day!

I see the hundred thousand wait

Around the radiant throne:

Ah, what a dreary, gilded state!

What crowds of beings lone!

I do not care for singing psalms;

I tire of good men's talk;

To me there is no joy in palms,

Or white-robed, solemn walk.

I love to hear the wild winds meet,

The wild old winds at night;

To watch the cold stars flash and beat,

The feathery snow alight.

I love all tales of valiant men,

Of women good and fair:

If I were rich and strong, ah, then

I would do something rare!

But

for thy temple in the sky, Its pillars strong and white--

I cannot love it, though I try,

And long with all my might.

Sometimes a joy lays hold on me,

And I am speechless then;

Almost a martyr I could be,

To join the holy men.

Straightway my heart is like a clod,

My spirit wrapt in doubt:--

A pillar in the house of God,

And never more go out!

No more the sunny, breezy morn;

All gone the glowing noon;

No more the silent heath forlorn,

The wan-faced waning moon!

My God, this heart will never burn,

Must never taste thy joy!

Even Jesus' face is calm and stern:

I am a hapless boy!

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