The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 87

_TO THE SAME_.

Dead, why defend thee, who in life For thy worst foe hadst died; Who, thy own name a word of strife, Didst silent stand aside?

Grand in forgiveness, what to thee The big world's puny prate!

Or thy great heart hath ceased to be Or loveth still its mate!

_TO AURELIO SAFFI_.

_To G.o.d and man be simply true; Do as thou hast been wont to do; Bring out thy treasures, old and new_-- Mean all the same when said to you.

I love thee: thou art calm and strong; Firm in the right, mild to the wrong; Thy heart, in every raging throng, A chamber shut for prayer and song.

Defeat thou know'st not, canst not know, Although thy aims so lofty go They need as long to root and grow As infant hills to reach the snow.

Press on and prosper, holy friend!

I, weak and ignorant, would lend A voice, thee, strong and wise, to send Prospering onward without end.

_A THANKSGIVING FOR F. D. MAURICE_.

The veil hath lifted and hath fallen; and him Who next it stood before us, first so long, We see not; but between the cherubim The light burns clearer: come--a thankful song!

Lord, for thy prophet's calm commanding voice, For his majestic innocence and truth, For his unswerving purity of choice, For all his tender wrath and plenteous ruth;

For his obedient, wise, clear-listening care To hear for us what word The Word would say, For all the trembling fervency of prayer With which he led our souls the prayerful way;

For all the heavenly glory of his face That caught the white Transfiguration's s.h.i.+ne And cast on us the reflex of thy grace-- Of all thy men late left, the most divine;

For all his learning, and the thought of power That seized thy one Idea everywhere, Brought the eternal down into the hour, And taught the dead thy life to claim and share;

For his humility, dove-clear of guile;-- The sin denouncing, he, like thy great Paul, Still claimed in it the greatest share, the while Our eyes, love-sharpened, saw him best of all!

For his high victories over sin and fear, The captive hope his words of truth set free; For his abiding memory, holy, dear; Last, for his death and hiding now in thee,

We praise, we magnify thee, Lord of him: Thou hast him still; he ever was thine own; Nor shall our tears prevail the path to dim That leads where, lowly still, he haunts thy throne.

When thou, O Lord, ascendedst up on high Good gifts thou sentest down to cheer thy men: Lo, he ascends!--we follow with the cry, His spirit send thou back in thine again.

_GEORGE ROLLESTON_.

Dead art thou? No more dead than was the maid Over whose couch the saving G.o.d did stand-- "She is not dead but sleepeth," said, And took her by the hand!

Thee knowledge never from Life's pathway wiled, But following still where life's great father led, He turned, and taking up his child, Raised thee too from the dead,

O living, thou hast pa.s.sed thy second birth, Found all things new, and some things lovely strange; But thou wilt not forget the earth, Or in thy loving change!

TO GORDON, LEAVING KHARTOUM.

The silence of traitorous feet!

The silence of close-pent rage!

The roar, and the sudden heart-beat!

And the shot through the true heart going, The truest heart of the age!

And the Nile serenely flowing!

Carnage and curses and cries!

He utters never a word; Still as a child he lies; The wind of the desert is blowing Across the dead man of the Lord; And the Nile is softly flowing.

But the song is stilled in heaven To welcome one more king: For the truth he hath witnessed and striven, And let the world go crowing, And Mammon's church-bell go ring, And the Nile blood-red go flowing!

Man who hated the sword Yet wielded the sword and axe-- Farewell, O arm of the Lord, The Lord's own harvest mowing-- With a wind in the smoking flax Where our foul rivers are flowing!

In war thou didst cherish peace, Thou slewest for love of life: Hail, hail thy stormy release Go home and await thy sowing, The patient flower of thy strife, Thy bread on the Nile cast flowing.

Not thy earth to our earth alone, Thy spirit is left with us!

Thy body is victory's throne, And our hearts around it are glowing: Would that we others died thus Where the Thames and the Clyde are flowing!

_SONG OF THE SAINTS AND ANGELS_,

JANUARY 26, 1885.

Gordon, the self-refusing, Gordon, the lover of G.o.d, Gordon, the good part choosing, Welcome along the road!

Thou knowest the man, O Father!

To do thy will he ran; Men's praises he did not gather: There is scarce such another man!