The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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XVIII.

But

why from thought should fresh doubt start-- An ever-lengthening cord?

Might he not make my troubled heart

Right sure it was the Lord?

God

will not let a smaller boon Hinder the coming best;

A granted sign might all too soon

Rejoice thee into rest.

Yet

could not any sign, though grand As hosts of fire about,

Though lovely as a sunset-land,

Secure thy soul from doubt.

A smile from one thou lovedst well

Gladdened thee all the day;

The

doubt which all day far did dwell Came home with twilight gray.

For

doubt will come, will ever come, Though signs be perfect good,

Till heart to heart strike doubting dumb,

And both are understood.

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