Out of My Dream, To Him

Easier it were, but poorer were the love. Lord, I would have me love thee from the deeps—

Of troubled thought, of pain, of weariness.

Through seething wastes below, billows above,

My soul should rise in eager, hungering leaps;

Through thorny thicks, through sands unstable press—

Out of my dream to him who slumbers not nor sleeps.

~George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul

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