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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)

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Last, I began in unbelief to say:

"No angel this! a snowdrop--nothing more! A trifle which God's hands drew forth in play

From the tangled pond of chaos, dank and frore,

Threw on the bank, and left blindly to breed! A wilful fancy would have gathered store

Of evanescence from the pretty weed,

White, shapely--then divine! Conclusion lame O'erdriven into the shelter of a creed!

Not out of God, but nothingness it came:

Colourless, feeble, flying from life's heat, It has no honour, hardly shunning shame!"

When, see, another shadow at my feet!

Hopeless I lifted now my weary head: Why mock me with another heavenly cheat?--

A primrose fair, from its rough-blanketed bed

Laughed, lo, my unbelief to heavenly scorn! A sun-child, just awake, no prayer yet said,

Half rising from the couch where it was born,

And smiling to the world! I breathed again; Out of the midnight once more dawned the morn,

And fled the phantom Doubt with all his train.

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