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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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then, my Father, hast thou not A blessing just for me?

Shall I be, barely, not forgot?--

Never come home to thee?

Hast thou no care for this one child,

This thinking, living need?

Or is thy countenance only mild,

Thy heart not love indeed?

some eternal joy I pray, To make me strong and free;

Yea, such a friend I need alway

As thou alone canst be.

Is not creative infinitude

Able, in every man,

To turn itself to every mood

Since God man's life began?

thou not each man's God--his own, With secret words between,

As thou and he lived all alone,

Insphered in silence keen?

God, my heart is not the same As any heart beside;

My pain is different, and my blame,

My pity and my pride!

My history thou know'st, my thoughts

Different from other men's;

Thou knowest all the sheep and goats

That mingle in my pens.

Thou knowest I a love might bring

By none beside me due;

praiseful song at least might sing Which could not but be new.

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