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

Скачать книгу

        Robert.]

                                  Well, perhaps

        'Twere better you should go. I cannot help you,

        But I can keep your secret. God be with you. [Goes.

        Julian.

        Amen.—A good man; but he has not waked,

        And seen the Sphinx's stony eyes fixed on him.

        God veils it. He believes in Christ, he thinks;

        And so he does, as possible for him.

        How he will wonder when he looks for heaven!

        He thinks me an enthusiast, because

        I seek to know God, and to hear his voice

        Talk to my heart in silence; as of old

        The Hebrew king, when, still, upon his bed,

        He lay communing with his heart; and God

        With strength in his soul did strengthen him, until

        In his light he saw light. God speaks to men.

        My soul leans toward him; stretches forth its arms,

        And waits expectant. Speak to me, my God;

        And let me know the living Father cares

        For me, even me; for this one of his children.—

        Hast thou no word for me? I am thy thought.

        God, let thy mighty heart beat into mine,

        And let mine answer as a pulse to thine.

        See, I am low; yea, very low; but thou

        Art high, and thou canst lift me up to thee.

        I am a child, a fool before thee, God;

        But thou hast made my weakness as my strength.

        I am an emptiness for thee to fill;

        My soul, a cavern for thy sea. I lie

        Diffused, abandoning myself to thee….

        —I will look up, if life should fail in looking.

        Ah me! A stream cut from my parent-spring!

        Ah me! A life lost from its father-life!

      SCENE II.—The refectory. The monks at table. A buzz of conversation. ROBERT enters, wiping his forehead, as if he had just come in

        Stephen

        (speaking across the table).

        You see, my friend, it will not stand to logic;

        Or, if you like it better, stand to reason;

        For in this doctrine is involved a cause

        Which for its very being doth depend

        Upon its own effect. For, don't you see,

        He tells me to have faith and I shall live!

        Have faith for what? Why, plainly, that I shall

        Be saved from hell by him, and ta'en to heaven;

        What is salvation else? If I believe,

        Then he will save me! But, so, this his will

        Has no existence till that I believe;

        And there is nothing for my faith to rest on,

        No object for belief. How can I trust

        In that which is not? Send the salad, Cosmo.

        Besides, 'twould be a plenary indulgence;

        To all intents save one, most plenary—

        And that the Church's coffer. 'Tis absurd.

        Monk.

        'Tis most absurd, as you have clearly shown.

        And yet I fear some of us have been nibbling

        At this same heresy. 'Twere well that one

        Should find it poison. I have no pique at him—

        But there's that Julian!—

        Stephen.

                                  Hush! speak lower, friend.

       Two Monks farther down the table—in a low tone.

        1st Monk.

        Where did you find her?

        2nd Monk.

                                 She was taken ill

        At the Star-in-the-East. I chanced to pass that way,

        And so they called me in. I found her dying.

        But ere she would confess and make her peace,

        She begged to know if I had ever seen,

        About this neighbourhood, a tall dark man,

        Moody and silent, with a little stoop

        As if his eyes were heavy for his shoulders,

        And a strange look of mingled youth and age,—

        1st Monk.

        Julian, by—

        2nd Monk.

                      'St—no names! I had not seen him.

        I saw the death-mist gathering in her eyes,

        And urged her to proceed; and she began;

        But went not far before delirium came,

        With endless repetitions, hurryings forward,

        Recoverings like a hound at fault. The past

        Was running riot in her conquered brain;

        And there, with doors thrown wide, a motley group

        Held carnival; went freely out and in,

        Meeting and jostling. But withal it seemed

        As some confused tragedy went on;

Скачать книгу