The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)
Home - George MacDonald - The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)A FRAGMENT.
When the cock crows loud from the glen, And the moor-cock chirrs from the heather, What hear ye and see ye then, Ye children of air and ether?
1_st Echo_.
A thunder as of waves at the rising of the moon, And a darkness on the graves though the day is at its noon.
2nd Echo. A springing as of grass though the air is damp and chill,
And a glimmer from the river that winds about the hill.
1st Echo. A lapse of crags that leant from the mountain's earthen sheath,
And a shock of ruin sent on the river underneath.
2nd Echo. A sound as of a building that groweth fair and good,
And a piping of the thrushes from the hollow of the wood.
1st Echo. A wailing as of lambs that have wandered from the flock,
And a bleating of their dams that was answered from the rock.
2nd Echo. A breathing as of cattle in the shadow where they dream,
And a sound of children playing with the pebbles in the stream.
1st Echo. A driving as of clouds in the kingdom of the air,
And a tumult as of crowds that mingle everywhere.
2nd Echo. A waving of the grass, and a passing o'er the lakes,
And a shred of tempest-cloud in the glory when it breaks.
THE GOAL
In God alone, the perfect end, Wilt thou find thyself or friend.
THE HEALER.
They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind,
The devil-torn, the sick, the sore; Thy heart their well of life they find,
Thine ear their open door.
Ah, who can tell the joy in Palestine--
What smiles and tears of rescued throngs! Their lees of life were turned to wine,
Their prayers to shouts and songs!
The story dear our wise men fable call,
Give paltry facts the mighty range; To me it seems just what should fall,
And nothing very strange.
But were I deaf and lame and blind and sore,
I scarce would care for cure to ask; Another prayer should haunt thy door--
Set thee a harder task.
If thou art Christ, see here this heart of mine,
Torn, empty, moaning, and unblest! Had ever heart more need of thine,
If thine indeed hath rest?
Thy word, thy hand right soon did scare the bane
That in their bodies death did breed; If thou canst cure my deeper pain
Then art thou lord indeed.
OH THAT A WIND.
Oh that a wind would call
From the depths of the leafless wood! Oh that a voice would fall
On the ear of my solitude!
Far away is the sea,
With its sound and its spirit tone; Over it white clouds flee;
But I am alone, alone.
Straight and steady and tall
The trees stand on their feet; Fast by the old stone wall
The moss grows green and sweet; But my heart is full of fears,
For the sun shines far away; And they look in my face through tears,
And the light of a dying day.
My heart was glad last night
As I pressed it with my palm; Its throb was airy and light
As it sang some spirit psalm; But it died away in my breast
As I wandered forth to-day,-- As a bird sat dead on its nest,
While others sang on the spray.
O weary heart of mine,
Is there ever a Truth for thee? Will ever a sun outshine
But the sun that shines on me? Away, away through the air
The clouds and the leaves are blown; And my heart hath need of prayer,
For it sitteth alone, alone.
A VISION OF ST. ELIGIUS.