The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)
Home - George MacDonald - The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)TO E.M. II.
Dear friend, you love the poet's song,
And here is one for your regard. You know the "melancholy bard,"
Whose grief is wise as well as strong;
Already something understand
For whom he mourns and what he sings, And how he wakes with golden strings
The echoes of "the silent land;"
How, restless, faint, and worn with grief,
Yet loving all and hoping all, He gazes where the shadows fall,
And finds in darkness some relief;
And how he sends his cries across,
His cries for him that comes no more, Till one might think that silent shore
Full of the burden of his loss;
And how there comes sublimer cheer--
Not darkness solacing sad eyes, Not the wild joy of mournful cries,
But light that makes his spirit clear;
How, while he gazes, something high,
Something of Heaven has fallen on him, His distance and his future dim
Broken into a dawning sky!
Something of this, dear friend, you know;
And will you take the book from me That holds this mournful melody,
And softens grief to sadness so?
Perhaps it scarcely suits the day
Of joyful hopes and memories clear, When love should have no thought of fear,
And only smiles be round your way;
Yet from the mystery and the gloom,
From tempted faith and conquering trust, From spirit stronger than the dust,
And love that looks beyond the tomb,
What can there be but good to win,
But hope for life, but love for all, But strength whatever may befall?--
So for the year that you begin,
For all the years that follow this
While a long happy life endures, This hope, this love, this strength be yours,
And afterwards a larger bliss!
May nothing in this mournful song
Too much take off your thoughts from time, For joy should fill your vernal prime,
And peace your summer mild and long.
And may his love who can restore
All losses, give all new good things,
Like loving eyes and sheltering wings
Be round us all for evermore!
THEY ARE BLIND.
They are blind, and they are dead:
We will wake them as we go; There are words have not been said,
There are sounds they do not know: We will pipe and we will sing-- With the Music and the Spring Set their hearts a wondering!
They are tired of what is old,
We will give it voices new; For the half hath not been told
Of the Beautiful and True. Drowsy eyelids shut and sleeping! Heavy eyes oppressed with weeping! Flashes through the lashes leaping!
Ye that have a pleasant voice,
Hither come without delay; Ye will never have a choice
Like to that ye have to-day: Round the wide world we will go, Singing through the frost and snow Till the daisies are in blow.
Ye that cannot pipe or sing,
Ye must also come with speed; Ye must come, and with you bring
Weighty word and weightier deed-- Helping hands and loving eyes! These will make them truly wise-- Then will be our Paradise.
March 27, 1852.
WHEN THE STORM WAS PROUDEST.
When the storm was proudest, And the wind was loudest,
I heard the hollow caverns drinking down below;
When the stars were bright, And the ground was white,
I heard the grasses springing underneath the snow.
Many voices spake-- The river to the lake,
And the iron-ribbed sky was talking to the sea;
And every starry spark Made music with the dark,
And said how bright and beautiful everything must be.
When the sun was setting, All the clouds were getting
Beautiful and silvery in the rising moon;
Beneath the leafless trees Wrangling in the breeze,
I could hardly see them for the leaves of June.
When the day had ended, And the night descended,
I heard the sound of streams that I heard not through the day,
And every peak afar Was ready for a star,
And they climbed and rolled around until the morning gray.
Then slumber soft and holy Came down upon me slowly,
And I went I know not whither, and I lived I know not how;
My glory had been banished, For when I woke it vanished;
But I waited on its coming, and I am waiting now.
THE DIVER.