The Poetical Works of George MacDonald, vol 1 | Page 8

its very point I
have watched a star For a few moments crown it with a fire, As of an
incense-offering that blazed Upon this mighty altar high uplift, And
then float up the pathless waste of heaven. From the next window I
could look abroad Over a plain unrolled, which God had painted With
trees, and meadow-grass, and a large river, Where boats went to and fro
like water-flies, In white and green; but still I turned to look At that one
mount, aspiring o'er its fellows: All here I saw--I knew not what was

there. O love of knowledge and of mystery, Striving together in the
heart of man! "Tell me, and let me know; explain the thing."-- Then
when the courier-thoughts have circled round: "Alas! I know it all; its
charm is gone!" But I must hasten; else the sun will set Before I reach
the smoother valley-road. I wonder if my old nurse lives; or has Eyes
left to know me with. Surely, I think, Four years of wandering since I
left my home, In sunshine and in snow, in ship and cell, Must have
worn changes in this face of mine Sufficient to conceal me, if I will.

SCENE VIII.--_A dungeon in the monastery. A ray of the moon on the
floor_. ROBERT.
Robert. One comfort is, he's far away by this. Perhaps this comfort is
my deepest sin. Where shall I find a daysman in this strife Between my
heart and holy Church's words? Is not the law of kindness from God's
finger, Yea, from his heart, on mine? But then we must Deny ourselves;
and impulses must yield, Be subject to the written law of words;
Impulses made, made strong, that we might have Within the temple's
court live things to bring And slay upon his altar; that we may, By this
hard penance of the heart and soul, Become the slaves of Christ.--I
have done wrong; I ought not to have let poor Julian go. And yet that
light upon the floor says, yes-- Christ would have let him go. It seemed
a good, Yes, self-denying deed, to risk my life That he might be in
peace. Still up and down The balance goes, a good in either scale; Two
angels giving each to each the lie, And none to part them or decide the
question. But still the words come down the heaviest Upon my
conscience as that scale descends; But that may be because they hurt
me more, Being rough strangers in the feelings' home. Would God
forbid us to do what is right, Even for his sake? But then Julian's life
Belonged to God, to do with as he pleases! I am bewildered. 'Tis as
God and God Commanded different things in different tones. Ah! then,
the tones are different: which is likest God's voice? The one is gentle,
loving, kind, Like Mary singing to her mangered child; The other like a
self-restrained tempest; Like--ah, alas!--the trumpet on Mount Sinai,
Louder and louder, and the voice of words. O for some light! Would
they would kill me! then I would go up, close up, to God's own throne,
And ask, and beg, and pray to know the truth; And he would slay this

ghastly contradiction. I should not fear, for he would comfort me,
Because I am perplexed, and long to know. But this perplexity may be
my sin, And come of pride that will not yield to him! O for one word
from God! his own, and fresh From him to me! Alas, what shall I do!

PART II.
Hark, hark, a voice amid the quiet intense! It is thy Duty waiting thee
without. Rise from thy knees in hope, the half of doubt; A hand doth
pull thee--it is Providence; Open thy door straightway, and get thee
hence; Go forth into the tumult and the shout; Work, love, with workers,
lovers, all about: Of noise alone is born the inward sense Of silence;
and from action springs alone The inward knowledge of true love and
faith. Then, weary, go thou back with failing breath, And in thy
chamber make thy prayer and moan: One day upon His bosom, all
thine own, Thou shall lie still, embraced in holy death.

SCENE I.--_A room in Julian's castle_. JULIAN and the old Nurse.
Julian. Nembroni? Count Nembroni?--I remember: A man about my
height, but stronger built? I have seen him at her father's. There was
something I did not like about him:--ah! I know: He had a way of
darting looks at you, As if he wished to know you, but by stealth.
Nurse. The same, my lord. He is the creditor. The common story is, he
sought the daughter, But sought in vain: the lady would not wed.