The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2 - George MacDonald

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poor parable,

        In which I would have said thy name alone

        Is the one secret lying in Truth's well,

      Thy voice the hidden charm in every tone,

        Thy face the heart of every flower on earth,

        Its vision the one hope; for every moan

      Thy love the cure! O sharer of the birth

        Of little children seated on thy knee!

        O human God! I laugh with sacred mirth

      To think how all the laden shall go free;

        For, though the vision tarry, in healing ruth

        One morn the eyes that shone in Galilee

      Will dawn upon them, full of grace and truth,

        And thy own love—the vivifying core

        Of every love in heart of age or youth,

      Of every hope that sank 'neath burden sore!

       THE SANGREAL:

      A Part Of The Story Omitted In The Old Romances

I How sir Galahad despaired of finding the Grail

      Through the wood the sunny day

        Glimmered sweetly glad;

      Through the wood his weary way

        Rode sir Galahad.

      All about stood open porch,

        Long-drawn cloister dim;

      'Twas a wavering wandering church

        Every side of him.

      On through columns arching high,

        Foliage-vaulted, he

      Rode in thirst that made him sigh,

        Longing miserably.

      Came the moon, and through the trees

        Glimmered faintly sad;

      Withered, worn, and ill at ease

        Down lay Galahad;

      Closed his eyes and took no heed

        What might come or pass;

      Heard his hunger-busy steed

        Cropping dewy grass.

      Cool and juicy was the blade,

        Good to him as wine:

      For his labour he was paid,

        Galahad must pine!

      Late had he at Arthur's board,

        Arthur strong and wise,

      Pledged the cup with friendly lord,

        Looked in ladies' eyes;

      Now, alas! he wandered wide,

        Resting never more,

      Over lake and mountain-side,

        Over sea and shore!

      Swift in vision rose and fled

        All he might have had;

      Weary tossed his restless head,

        And his heart grew sad.

      With the lowliest in the land

        He a maiden fair

      Might have led with virgin hand

        From the altar-stair:

      Youth away with strength would glide,

        Age bring frost and woe;

      Through the world so dreary wide

        Mateless he must go!

      Lost was life and all its good,

        Gone without avail!

      All his labour never would

        Find the Holy Grail!

 II How sir Galahad found and lost the Grail

      Galahad was in the night,

        And the wood was drear;

      But to men in darksome plight

        Radiant things appear:

      Wings he heard not floating by,

        Heard no heavenly hail;

      But he started with a cry,

        For he saw the Grail.

      Hid from bright beholding sun,

        Hid from moonlight wan,

      Lo, from age-long darkness won,

        It was seen of man!

      Three feet off, on cushioned moss,

        As if cast away,

      Homely wood with carven cross,

        Rough and rude it lay!

      To his knees the knight rose up,

        Loosed his gauntlet-band;

      Fearing, daring, toward the cup

        Went his naked hand;

      When, as if it fled from harm,

        Sank the holy thing,

      And his eager following arm

        Plunged into a spring.

      Oh the thirst, the water sweet!

        Down he lay and quaffed,

      Quaffed and rose up on his feet,

        Rose and gayly laughed;

      Fell upon his knees to thank,

        Loved and lauded there;

      Stretched him on the mossy bank,

        Fell asleep in prayer;

      Dreamed, and dreaming murmured low

        Ave, pater, creed;

      When the fir-tops gan to glow

        Waked and

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