The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1 - George MacDonald

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        Could be a mirror to the stars of heaven!

        And though I am not yet come near to him,

        I know I am more nigh; and am content

        To walk a long and weary road to find

        My father's house once more. Well may it be

        A long and weary—I had wandered far.

        My God, I thank thee, thou dost care for me.

        I am content, rejoicing to go on,

        Even when my home seems very far away;

        For over grief, and aching emptiness,

        And fading hopes, a higher joy arises.

        In cloudiest nights, one lonely spot is bright,

        High overhead, through folds and folds of space;

        It is the earnest-star of all my heavens;

        And tremulous in the deep well of my being

        Its image answers, gazing eagerly.

        Alas, my Lilia!—But I'll think of Jesus,

        Not of thee now; him who hath led my soul

        Thus far upon its journey home to God.

        By poor attempts to do the things he said,

        Faith has been born; free will become a fact;

        And love grown strong to enter into his,

        And know the spirit that inhabits there.

        One day his truth will spring to life in me,

        And make me free, as God says "I am free."

        When I am like him, then my soul will dawn

        With the full glory of the God revealed—

        Full as to me, though but one beam from him;

        The light will shine, for I shall comprehend it:

        In his light I shall see light. God can speak,

        Yea, will speak to me then, and I shall hear.

        Not yet like him, how can I hear his words?

      [Stopping by the crib, and bending over the child.]

        My darling child! God's little daughter, drest

        In human clothes, that light may thus be clad

        In shining, so to reach my human eyes!

        Come as a little Christ from heaven to earth,

        To call me father, that my heart may know

        What father means, and turn its eyes to God!

        Sometimes I feel, when thou art clinging to me,

        How all unfit this heart of mine to have

        The guardianship of a bright thing like thee,

        Come to entice, allure me back to God

        By flitting round me, gleaming of thy home,

        And radiating of thy purity

        Into my stained heart; which unto thee

        Shall ever show the father, answering

        The divine childhood dwelling in thine eyes.

        O how thou teachest me with thy sweet ways,

        All ignorant of wherefore thou art come,

        And what thou art to me, my heavenly ward,

        Whose eyes have drunk that secret place's light

        And pour it forth on me! God bless his own!

      [He resumes his walk, singing in a low voice.]

          My child woke crying from her sleep;

          I bended o'er her bed,

          And soothed her, till in slumber deep

          She from the darkness fled.

          And as beside my child I stood,

          A still voice said in me—

          "Even thus thy Father, strong and good,

          Is bending over thee."

      SCENE II.—Rooms in Lord Seaford's house. A large company; dancers; gentlemen looking on

        1_st Gentleman_.

        Henry, what dark-haired queen is that? She moves

        As if her body were instinct with thought,

        Moulded to motion by the music's waves,

        As floats the swan upon the swelling lake;

        Or as in dreams one sees an angel move,

        Sweeping on slow wings through the buoyant air,

        Then folding them, and turning on his track.

        2_nd_.

        You seem inspired; nor can I wonder at it;

        She is a glorious woman; and such eyes!

        Think—to be loved by such a woman now!

        1_st_.

        You have seen her, then, before: what is her name?

        2_nd_.

        I saw her once; but could not learn her name.

        3_rd_.

        She is the wife of an Italian count,

        Who for some cause, political I think,

        Took refuge in this country. His estates

        The Church has eaten up, as I have heard:

        Mephisto says the Church has a good stomach.

        2_nd_.

        How do they live?

        3_rd_.

                          Poorly, I should suppose;

        For she gives Lady Gertrude music-lessons:

        That's

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