A Hidden Life and Other Poems

A Hidden Life and Other Poems

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Title: A Hidden Life and Other Poems
Author: George MacDonald
Release Date: January 2, 2004 [EBook #10578]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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A HIDDEN LIFE
And Other Poems
GEORGE MAC DONALD
Author of
"Within and Without, a Dramatic Poem;" "David Elginbrod;" "Phantasies;" etc.

Ma poi ch' i' fui appi�� d' un colle giunto, L�� ove terminava quella valle, Che m' avea di paura il cuor compunto; Guarda' in alto, e vidi le sue spalle Vestite gi�� de' raggi del pianeta, Che mena dritto altrui per ogni calle.
DELL' INFERNO, Cant. I.

1864.
To My Father.
I.
Take of the first fruits, Father, of thy care, Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my gratitude Late waked for early gifts ill understood; Claiming in all my harvests rightful share, Whether with song that mounts the joyful air I praise my God; or, in yet deeper mood, Sit dumb because I know a speechless good, Needing no voice, but all the soul for prayer. Thou hast been faithful to my highest need; And I, thy debtor, ever, evermore, Shall never feel the grateful burden sore. Yet most I thank thee, not for any deed, But for the sense thy living self did breed That fatherhood is at the great world's core.
II.
All childhood, reverence clothed thee, undefined, As for some being of another race; Ah! not with it departing--grown apace As years have brought me manhood's loftier mind Able to see thy human life behind-- The same hid heart, the same revealing face-- My own dim contest settling into grace Of sorrow, strife, and victory combined. So I beheld my God, in childhood's morn, A mist, a darkness, great, and far apart, Moveless and dim--I scarce could say _Thou art_: My manhood came, of joy and sadness born-- Full soon the misty dark, asunder torn, Revealed man's glory, God's great human heart.
G.M.D. Jr.
Algiers, April, 1857.

CONTENTS.
A HIDDEN LIFE THE HOMELESS GHOST ABU MIDJAN AN OLD STORY A BOOK OP DREAMS TO AURELIO SAFFI SONNET A MEMORIAL OF AFRICA A GIFT THE MAN OF SONGS BETTER THINGS THE JOURNEY PRAYER REST TO A.J. SCOTT LIGHT TO A.J. SCOTT WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER IF I WERE A MONK, AND THOU WERT A NUN BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH THE HILLS I KNOW WHAT BEAUTY IS I WOULD I WERE A CHILD THE LOST SOUL A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM AFTER AN OLD LEGEND THE TREE'S PRAYER A STORY OF THE SEA SHORE MY HEART O DO NOT LEAVE ME THE HOLY SNOWDROPS TO MY SISTER O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH LONGING A BOY'S GRIEF THE CHILD-MOTHER LOVE'S ORDEAL A PRAYER FOR THE PAST FAR AND NEAR MY ROOM SYMPATHY LITTLE ELFIE THE THANK OFFERING THE BURNT OFFERING FOUR SONNETS SONNET EIGHTEEN SONNETS DEATH AND BIRTH
EARLY POEMS.
LONGING MY EYES MAKE PICTURES DEATH LESSONS FOR A CHILD HOPE DEFERRED THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR A SONG IN A DREAM A THANKSGIVING
THE GOSPEL WOMEN.
THE MOTHER MARY THE WOMAN THAT CRIED IN THE CROWD THE MOTHER OF ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN THE SYROPHENICIAN WOMAN THE WIDOW OF NAIN THE WOMAN WHOM SATAN HAD BOUND THE WOMAN WHO CAME BEHIND HIM IN THE CROWD THE WIDOW WITH THE TWO MITES THE WOMEN WHO MINISTERED UNTO HIM PILATE'S WIFE THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA MART MAGDALENE THE WOMAN IN THE TEMPLE MARTHA MARY THE WOMAN THAT WAS A SINNER

POEMS.
A HIDDEN LIFE.
Proudly the youth, by manhood sudden crowned, Went walking by his horses to the plough, For the first time that morn. No soldier gay Feels at his side the throb of the gold hilt (Knowing the blue blade hides within its sheath, As lightning in the cloud) with more delight, When first he belts it on, than he that day Heard still the clank of the plough-chains against The horses' harnessed sides, as to the field They went to make it fruitful. O'er the hill The sun looked down, baptizing him for toil.
A farmer's son he was, and grandson too; Yea, his great-grandsire had possessed these fields. Tradition said they had been tilled by men Who bore the name long centuries ago, And married wives, and reared a stalwart race, And died, and went where all had followed them, Save one old man, his daughter, and the youth Who ploughs in pride, nor ever doubts his toil; And death is far from him this sunny morn. Why should we think of death