The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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XVII.

When the hot sun's too urgent might

Hath shrunk the tender leaf,

Water comes sliding down the night,

And makes its sorrow brief.

When poet's heart is in eclipse,

A glance from childhood's eye,

A smile from passing maiden's lips,

Will clear a glowing sky.

Might not from God such influence come

A dying hope to lift?

Might he not send to poor heart some

Unmediated gift?

My child lies moaning, lost in dreams,

Abandoned, sore dismayed;

Her

fancy's world with horror teems, Her soul is much afraid:

I lay my hand upon her breast,

Her moaning dies away;

She

does not wake, but, lost in rest, Sleeps on into the day.

And

when my heart with soft release Grows calm as summer-sea,

Shall I not hope the God of peace

Hath laid his hand on me?

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