The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 71

When G.o.d's own child came down to earth, High heaven was very glad; The angels sang for holy mirth; Not G.o.d himself was sad!

Shall we, when ours goes homeward, fret?

Come, Hope, and wait on Sorrow!

The little one will not forget; It's only till to-morrow!

_THE TEMPLE OF G.o.d_.

In the desert by the bush, Moses to his heart said _Hush_.

David on his bed did pray; G.o.d all night went not away.

From his heap of ashes foul Job to G.o.d did lift his soul,

G.o.d came down to see him there, And to answer all his prayer.

On a dark hill, in the wind, Jesus did his father find,

But while he on earth did fare, Every spot was place of prayer;

And where man is any day, G.o.d can not be far away.

But the place he loveth best, Place where he himself can rest,

Where alone he prayer doth seek, Is the spirit of the meek.

To the humble G.o.d doth come; In his heart he makes his home.

_GOING TO SLEEP_.

Little one, you must not fret That I take your clothes away; Better sleep you so will get, And at morning wake more gay-- Saith the children's mother.

You I must unclothe again, For you need a better dress; Too much worn are body and brain; You need everlastingness-- Saith the heavenly father.

I went down death's lonely stair; Laid my garments in the tomb; Dressed again one morning fair; Hastened up, and hied me home-- Saith the elder brother.

Then I will not be afraid Any ill can come to me; When 'tis time to go to bed, I will rise and go with thee-- Saith the little brother.

_TO-MORROW_.

My TO-MORROW is but a flitting Fancy of the brain; G.o.d's TO-MORROW an angel sitting, Ready for joy or pain.

My TO-MORROW has no soul, Dead as yesterdays; G.o.d's--a br.i.m.m.i.n.g silver bowl Of life that gleams and plays.

My TO-MORROW, I mock you away!

Shadowless nothing, thou!

G.o.d's TO-MORROW, come, dear day, For G.o.d is in thee now.

_FOOLISH CHILDREN_.

Waking in the night to pray, Sleeping when the answer comes, Foolish are we even at play-- Tearfully we beat our drums!

Cast the good dry bread away, Weep, and gather up the crumbs!

"Evermore," while s.h.i.+nes the day, "Lord," we cry, "thy will be done!"

Soon as evening groweth gray, Thy fair will we fain would shun!

"Take, oh, take thy hand away!

See the horrid dark begun!"

"Thou hast conquered Death," we say, "Christ, whom Hades could not keep!"

Then, "Ah, see the pallid clay!

Death it is," we cry, "not sleep!

Grave, take all. Shut out the Day.

Sit we on the ground and weep!"

Gathering potsherds all the day, Truant children, Lord, we roam; Fret, and longer want to play, When at cool thy voice doth come!-- Elder Brother, lead the way; Make us good as we go home.

_LOVE IS HOME_.

Love is the part, and love is the whole; Love is the robe, and love is the pall; Ruler of heart and brain and soul, Love is the lord and the slave of all!

I thank thee, Love, that thou lov'st me; I thank thee more that I love thee.

Love is the rain, and love is the air, Love is the earth that holdeth fast; Love is the root that is buried there, Love is the open flower at last!

I thank thee, Love all round about, That the eyes of my love are looking out.

Love is the sun, and love is the sea; Love is the tide that comes and goes; Flowing and flowing it comes to me; Ebbing and ebbing to thee it flows!

Oh my sun, and my wind, and tide!

My sea, and my sh.o.r.e, and all beside!