The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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II.

There is a dearer, warmer bed,

Where one all day may lie,

Earth's bosom pillowing the head,

And let the world go by.

There come no watching mother's eyes,

The stars instead look down;

Upon it breaks, and silent dies,

The murmur of the town.

The

great world, shouting, forward fares: This chamber, hid from none,

Hides safe from all, for no one cares

For him whose work is done.

Cheer thee, my friend; bethink thee how

A certain unknown place,

Or here or there, is waiting now,

To rest thee from thy race.

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