The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 42

Straightway my heart is like a clod, My spirit wrapt in doubt:-- _A pillar in the house of G.o.d, And never more go out_!

No more the sunny, breezy morn; All gone the glowing noon; No more the silent heath forlorn, The wan-faced waning moon!

My G.o.d, this heart will never burn, Must never taste thy joy!

Even Jesus' face is calm and stern: I am a hapless boy!

II.

I read good books. My heart despairs.

In vain I try to dress My soul in feelings like to theirs-- These men of holiness.

My thoughts, like doves, abroad I fling Into a country fair: Wind-baffled, back, with tired wing, They to my ark repair.

Or comes a sympathetic thrill With long-departed saint, A feeble dawn, without my will, Of feelings old and quaint,

As of a church's holy night, With low-browed chapels round, Where common sunshine dares not light On the too sacred ground,--

One glance at sunny fields of grain, One shout of child at play-- A merry melody drives amain The one-toned chant away!

My spirit will not enter here To haunt the holy gloom; I gaze into a mirror mere, A mirror, not a room.

And as a bird against the pane Will strike, deceived sore, I think to enter, but remain Outside the closed door.

Oh, it will call for many a sigh If it be what it claims-- This book, so unlike earth and sky, Unlike man's hopes and aims!--

To me a desert parched and bare-- In which a spirit broods Whose wisdom I would gladly share At cost of many goods!

III.

O hear me, G.o.d! O give me joy Such as thy chosen feel; Have pity on a wretched boy; My heart is hard as steel.

I have no care for what is good; Thyself I do not love; I relish not this Bible-food; My heaven is not above.

Thou wilt not hear: I come no more; Thou heedest not my woe.

With sighs and tears my heart is sore.

Thou comest not: I go.

IV.

Once more I kneel. The earth is dark, And darker yet the air; If light there be, 'tis but a spark Amid a world's despair--

One hopeless hope there yet may be A G.o.d somewhere to hear; The G.o.d to whom I bend my knee-- A G.o.d with open ear.

I know that men laugh still to scorn The grief that is my lot; Such wounds, they say, are hardly borne, But easily forgot.

What matter that my sorrows rest On ills which men despise!

More hopeless heaves my aching breast Than when a prophet sighs.

AEons of griefs have come and gone-- My grief is yet my mark.

The sun sets every night, yet none Sees therefore in the dark.

There's love enough upon the earth, And beauty too, they say: There may be plenty, may be dearth, I care not any way.

The world hath melted from my sight; No grace in life is left; I cry to thee with all my might, Because I am bereft.

In vain I cry. The earth is dark, And darker yet the air; Of light there trembles now no spark In my lost soul's despair.

V.

I sit and gaze from window high Down on the noisy street: No part in this great coil have I, No fate to go and meet.

My books unopened long have lain; In cla.s.s I am all astray: The questions growing in my brain, Demand and have their way.

Knowledge is power, the people cry; Grave men the lure repeat: After some rarer thing I sigh, That makes the pulses beat.

Old truths, new facts, they preach aloud-- Their tones like wisdom fall: One sunbeam glancing on a cloud Hints things beyond them all.

VI.

But something is not right within; High hopes are far gone by.

Was it a bootless aim--to win Sight of a loftier sky?

They preach men should not faint, but pray, And seek until they find; But G.o.d is very far away, Nor is his countenance kind.

Yet every night my father prayed, Withdrawing from the throng!

Some answer must have come that made His heart so high and strong!

Once more I'll seek the G.o.d of men, Redeeming childhood's vow.-- --I failed with bitter weeping then, And fail cold-hearted now!

VII.

Why search for G.o.d? A man I tread This old life-bearing earth; High thoughts awake and lift my head-- In me they have their birth.