The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 46

The priest makes answer high.

'Tis thou, priest, makest the sky dim: My hope is in the sky.

XXVI.

But is my will alive, awake?

The one G.o.d will not heed If in my lips or hands I take A half-word or half-deed.

Hour after hour I sit and dream, Amazed in outwardness; The powers of things that only seem The things that are oppress;

Till in my soul some discord sounds, Till sinks some yawning lack; Then turn I from life's rippling rounds, And unto thee come back.

Thou seest how poor a thing am I, Yet hear, whate'er I be; Despairing of my will, I cry, Be G.o.d enough to me.

My spirit, low, irresolute, I cast before thy feet; And wait, while even prayer is mute, For what thou judgest meet.

XXVII.

My safety lies not, any hour, In what I generate, But in the living, healing power Of that which doth create.

If he is G.o.d to the incomplete, Fulfilling lack and need, Then I may cast before his feet A half-word or half-deed.

I bring, Lord, to thy altar-stair, To thee, love-glorious, My very lack of will and prayer, And cry--Thou seest me thus!

From some old well of life they flow!

The words my being fill!-- "Of me that man the truth shall know Who wills the Father's will."

XXVIII.

What is his will?--that I may go And do it, in the hope That light will rise and spread and grow, As deed enlarges scope.

I need not search the sacred book To find my duty clear; Scarce in my bosom need I look, It lies so very near.

Henceforward I must watch the door Of word and action too; There's one thing I must do no more, Another I must do.

Alas, these are such little things!

No glory in their birth!

Doubt from their common aspect springs-- If G.o.d will count them worth.

But here I am not left to choose, My duty is my lot; And weighty things will glory lose If small ones are forgot.

I am not worthy high things yet; I'll humbly do my own; Good care of sheep may so beget A fitness for the throne.

Ah fool! why dost thou reason thus?

Ambition's very fool!

Through high and low, each glorious, s.h.i.+nes G.o.d's all-perfect rule.

'Tis G.o.d I need, not rank in good: 'Tis Life, not honour's meed; With him to fill my every mood, I am content indeed.

XXIX.

_Will do: shall know_: I feel the force, The fullness of the word; His holy boldness held its course, Claiming divine accord.

What if, as yet, I have never seen The true face of the Man!

The named notion may have been A likeness vague and wan;

A thing of such unblended hues As, on his chamber wall, The humble peasant gladly views, And _Jesus Christ_ doth call.

The story I did never scan With vision calm and strong; Have never tried to see the Man, The many words among.

Pictures there are that do not please With any sweet surprise, But gain the heart by slow degrees Until they feast the eyes;

And if I ponder what they call The gospel of G.o.d's grace, Through mists that slowly melt and fall May dawn a human face.

What face? Oh, heart-uplifting thought, That face may dawn on me Which Moses on the mountain sought, G.o.d would not let him see!

x.x.x.

All faint at first, as wrapt in veil Of Sinai's cloudy dark, But dawning as I read the tale, I slow discern and mark

A gracious, simple, truthful man, Who walks the earth erect, Nor stoops his n.o.ble head to one From fear or false respect;

Who seeks to climb no high estate, No low consent secure, With high and low serenely great, Because his love is pure.

Oh not alone, high o'er our reach, Our joys and griefs beyond!

To him 'tis joy divine to teach Where human hearts respond;

And grief divine it was to him To see the souls that slept: "How often, O Jerusalem!"

He said, and gazed, and wept.

Love was his very being's root, And healing was its flower; Love, human love, its stem and fruit, Its gladness and its power.

Life of high G.o.d, till then unseen!

Undreamt-of glorious show!

Glad, faithful, childlike, love-serene!-- How poor am I! how low!

x.x.xI.

As in a living well I gaze, Kneeling upon its brink: What are the very words he says?

What did the one man think?

I find his heart was all above; Obedience his one thought; Reposing in his father's love, His father's will he sought.