The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume Ii Part 57

Sleep, dear baby; sleep outright: Mother's sitting just behind: Father's only out of sight; G.o.d is round us like the wind.

II.--SWEEPING THE FLOOR.

Sweep and sweep and sweep the floor, Sweep the dust, pick up the pin; Make it clean from fire to door, Clean for father to come in!

Mother said that G.o.d goes sweeping, Looking, sweeping with a broom, All the time that we are sleeping, For a s.h.i.+lling in the room:

Did he drop it out of glory, Walking far above the birds?

Or did parson make the story For the thinking afterwards?

If I were the swept-for s.h.i.+lling I would hearken through the gloom; Roll out fast, and fall down willing Right before the sweeping broom!

III.--WAs.h.i.+NG THE CLOTHES.

This is the way we wash the clo'es Free from dirt and smoke and clay!

Through and through the water flows, Carries Ugly right away!

This is the way we bleach the clo'es: Lay them out upon the green; Through and through the suns.h.i.+ne goes, Makes them white as well as clean!

This is the way we dry the clo'es: Hang them on the bushes about; Through and through the soft wind blows, Draws and drives the wetness out!

Water, sun, and windy air Make the clothes clean, white, and sweet Lay them now in lavender For the Sunday, folded neat!

IV.--DRAWING WATER.

Dark, as if it would not tell, Lies the water, still and cool: Dip the bucket in the well, Lift it from the precious pool!

Up it comes all brown and dim, Telling of the twilight sweet: As it rises to the brim See the sun and water meet!

See the friends each other hail!

"Here you are!" cries Master Sun; Mistress Water from the pail Flashes back, alive with fun!

Have you not a tale to tell, Water, as I take you home?

Tell me of the hidden well Whence you, first of all, did come.

Of it you have kept some flavour Through long paths of darkling strife: Water all has still a savour Of the primal well of life!

Could you show the lovely way Back and up through sea and sky To that well? Oh, happy day, I would drink, and never die!

Jesus sits there on its brink All the world's great thirst to slake, Offering every one to drink Who will only come and take!

Lord of wells and waters all, Lord of rains and dewy beads, Unto thee my thirst doth call For the thing thou know'st it needs!

Come home, water sweet and cool, Gift of G.o.d thou always art!

Spring up, Well more beautiful, Rise in mine straight from his heart.

V.--CLEANING THE WINDOWS.

Wash the window; rub it dry; Make the ray-door clean and bright: He who lords it in the sky Loves on cottage floors to light!

Looking over sea and beck, Mountain-forest, orchard-bloom, He can spy the smallest speck Anywhere about the room!

See how bright his torch is blazing In the heart of mother's store!

Strange! I never saw him gazing So into that press before!

Ah, I see!--the wooden pane In the window, dull and dead, Father called its loss a gain, And a gla.s.s one put instead!

What a difference it makes!

How it melts the filmy gloom!

What a little more it takes Much to brighten up a room!

There I spy a dusty streak!

There a corner not quite clean!

There a cobweb! There the sneak Of a spider, watching keen!

Lord of suns, and eyes that see, s.h.i.+ne into me, see and show; Leave no darksome spot in me Where thou dost not s.h.i.+ning go.

Fill my spirit full of eyes, Doors of light in every part; Open windows to the skies That no moth corrupt my heart.

_THE WIND AND THE MOON_.

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out!

You stare In the air As if crying _Beware_, Always looking what I am about: I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!"

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.

So, deep On a heap Of clouds, to sleep Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon, Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon!"

He turned in his bed: she was there again!

On high In the sky With her one ghost-eye The Moon shone white and alive and plain: Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again!"

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew slim.

"With my sledge And my wedge I have knocked off her edge!

I will blow," said the Wind, "right fierce and grim, And the creature will soon be slimmer than slim!"

He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.

"One puff More's enough To blow her to snuff!

One good puff more where the last was bred, And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!"

He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone.

In the air Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare; Larger and nearer the shy stars shone: Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more; On down And in town, A merry-mad clown, He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar-- When there was that glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; But in vain Was the pain Of his bursting brain, For still the Moon-sc.r.a.p the broader grew The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, And shone On her throne In the sky alone A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.