The Seaboard Parish - vol.2
Home - George MacDonald - The Seaboard Parish - vol.2CHILDHOOD.
"I cannot reach it; and my striving eye Dazzles at it, as at eternity.
Were now that chronicle alive,
Those white designs which children drive, And the thoughts of each harmless hour, With their content too in my power, Quickly would I make my path even,
And by mere playing go to heaven.
* * * * *
And yet the practice worldlings call Business and weighty action all,
Checking the poor child for his play, But gravely cast themselves away.
* * * * *
An age of mysteries! which he
Must live twice that would God's face see; Which angels guard, and with it play, Angels! which foul men drive away.
How do I study now, and scan
Thee more than ere I studied man,
And only see through a long night
Thy edges and thy bordering light I O for thy centre and midday!
For sure that is the narrow way!"
"For of such is the kingdom of heaven." said my wife softly, as I closed the book.
"May I have the book, papa?" said Connie, holding out her thin white cloud of a hand to take it.
"Certainly, my child. And if Wynnie would read it with you, she will feel more of the truth of what Mr. Percivale was saying to her about finish. Here are the finest, grandest thoughts, set forth sometimes with such carelessness, at least such lack of neatness, that, instead of their falling on the mind with all their power of loveliness, they are like a beautiful face disfigured with patches, and, what is worse, they put the mind out of the right, quiet, unquestioning, open mood, which is the only fit one for the reception of such true things as are embodied in the poems. But they are too beautiful after all to be more than a little spoiled by such a lack of the finish with which Art ends off all her labours. A gentleman, however, thinks it of no little importance to have his nails nice as well as his face and his shirt."