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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)

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Hills retreating on each hand Slowly sink into the plain; Solemn through the outspread land Rolls the river to the main. In the glooming of the night Something through the dusky air Doubtful glimmers, faintly white, But I know not what or where.

Is it but a chalky ridge
Bared of sod, like tree of bark? Or a river-spanning bridge
Miles away into the dark?
Or the foremost leaping waves Of the everlasting sea,
Where the Undivided laves
Time with its eternity?

Is it but an eye-made sight, In my brain a fancied gleam? Or a faint aurora-light
From the sun's tired smoking team? In the darkness it is gone, Yet with every step draws nigh; Known shall be the thing unknown When the morning climbs the sky!

Onward, onward through the night Matters it I cannot see?
I am moving in a might
Dwelling in the dark and me! End or way I cannot lose--
Grudge to rest, or fear to roam; All is well with wanderer whose Heart is travelling hourly home.

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