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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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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 Of fatherhood still at the great world's core.



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