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The Complete Poetical Works of George MacDonald. George MacDonald
Читать онлайн.Название The Complete Poetical Works of George MacDonald
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9788075837844
Автор произведения George MacDonald
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
The demons blast her to and fro;
She has no quiet place,
Enough a woman still, to know
A haunting dim disgrace.
A human touch! a pang of death!
And in a low delight
Thou liest, waiting for new breath.
For morning out of night.
Thou risest up: the earth is fair,
The wind is cool; thou art free!
Is it a dream of hell's despair
Dissolves in ecstasy?
That man did touch thee! Eyes divine
Make sunrise in thy soul;
Thou seëst love in order shine:—
His health hath made thee whole!
Thou, sharing in the awful doom,
Didst help thy Lord to die;
Then, weeping o'er his empty tomb,
Didst hear him Mary cry.
He stands in haste; he cannot stop;
Home to his God he fares:
"Go tell my brothers I go up
To my Father, mine and theirs."
Run, Mary! lift thy heavenly voice;
Cry, cry, and heed not how;
Make all the new-risen world rejoice—
Its first apostle thou!
What if old tales of thee have lied,
Or truth have told, thou art
All-safe with him, whate'er betide—
Dwell'st with him in God's heart!
XIII.
THE WOMAN IN THE TEMPLE.
A still dark joy! A sudden face!
Cold daylight, footsteps, cries!
The temple's naked, shining space,
Aglare with judging eyes!
All in abandoned guilty hair,
With terror-pallid lips,
To vulgar scorn her honour bare,
To lewd remarks and quips,
Her eyes she fixes on the ground
Her shrinking soul to hide,
Lest, at uncurtained windows found,
Its shame be clear descried.
All idle hang her listless hands,
They tingle with her shame;
She sees not who beside her stands,
She is so bowed with blame.
He stoops, he writes upon the ground,
Regards nor priests nor wife;
An awful silence spreads around,
And wakes an inward strife.
Then comes a voice that speaks for thee,
Pale woman, sore aghast:
"Let him who from this sin is free
At her the first stone cast!"
Ah then her heart grew slowly sad!
Her eyes bewildered rose;
She saw the one true friend she had,
Who loves her though he knows.
He stoops. In every charnel breast
Dead conscience rises slow:
They, dumb before that awful guest,
Turn, one by one, and go.
Up in her deathlike, ashy face
Rises the living red;
No greater wonder sure had place
When Lazarus left the dead!
She is alone with him whose fear
Made silence all around;
False pride, false shame, they come not near,
She has her saviour found!
Jesus hath spoken on her side,
Those cruel men withstood!
From him her shame she will not hide!
For him she will be good!
He rose; he saw the temple bare;
They two are left alone!
He said unto her, "Woman, where
Are thine accusers gone?"
"Hath none condemned thee?" "Master, no,"
She answers, trembling sore.
"Neither do I condemn thee. Go,
And sin not any more."
She turned and went.—To hope and grieve?
Be what she had not been?
We are not told; but I believe
His kindness made her clean.
Our sins to thee us captive hale—
Ambitions, hatreds dire;
Cares, fears, and selfish loves that fail,
And sink us in the mire:
Our captive-cries with pardon meet;
Our passion cleanse with pain;
Lord, thou didst make these miry feet—
Oh, wash them clean again!
XIV.
MARTHA.
With joyful pride her heart is high:
Her humble house doth hold
The man her nation's prophecy
Long ages hath foretold!
Poor, is he? Yes, and lowly born:
Her woman-soul is proud
To know and hail the coming morn
Before the eyeless crowd.
At her poor table will he eat?
He shall be served there
With honour and devotion meet
For any king that were!
'Tis all she can; she does her part,
Profuse in sacrifice;
Nor dreams that in her unknown heart
A better offering lies.
But many crosses she must bear;
Her plans are turned and bent;
Do what she can, things will not wear
The form of her intent.
With idle hands and drooping lid,
See Mary sit at rest!
Shameful it was her sister did
No service for their guest!
Dear Martha, one day Mary's lot
Must rule thy hands and eyes;