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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)

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There is a plough that hath no share, Only a coulter that parteth fair;

But the ridges they rise To a terrible size

Or ever the coulter comes near to tear: The horses and ridges fierce battle make; The horses are safe, but the plough may break.

Seed cast in its furrows, or green or sear, Will lift to the sun neither blade nor ear:

Down it drops plumb Where no spring-times come,

Nor needeth it any harrowing gear; Wheat nor poppy nor blade has been found Able to grow on the naked ground.

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