O Father, thou art All-in-all, perfect beyond the longing of thy children, and we are all and altogether thine. Thou wilt make us pure and loving and free. We shall stand fearless in thy presence, infinite in the love of each other, because perfect in thy love. Lord Jesus, let the heart of a child be given to us, that so we may arise from the grave of our dead selves and die no more, but see face to face the God of the Living. 
~ George MacDonald, US


Small Beginnings

The universe would be to me no more than a pasteboard scene, all surface and no deepness, on the stage, if I did not hope in God. I will not say believe, for that is a big word, and it means so much more than my low beginnings of confidence. But a little faith may wake a great big hope, and I look for great things from him whose perfection breathed me out that I might be a perfect thing one day. The more we trust, the more reasonable we find it to trust.
-— George MacDonald

From a letter to Lady Mount-Temple, 1888

Perfect Rest

As to our mothers came help in our birth—

Not lost in lifing us, but saved and blest—

Self bearing self, although right sorely prest,

Shall nothing lose, but die and be at rest

In life eternal, beyond all care and dearth.

God-born then truly, a man does no more ill,

Perfectly loves, and has whate’er he will.
—George MacDonald 

Will to Die

Lord of essential life, help me to die.     To will to die is one with highest life,

     The mightiest act that to Will’s hand doth lie—

     Born of God’s essence, and of man’s hard strife:

     God, give me strength my evil self to kill,

     And die into the heaven of thy pure will.—

     Then shall this body’s death be very tolerable. 
— George MacDonald

Everywhere, Thou… Shining

“Everywhere,Thou art shining through the air;

Every atom from another

Takes thee, gives thee to his brother;


Thou art falling on the sea,

Bathing the deep woods down below,

Making the sea-flowers bud and blow;


Thou art working ardently,

Bringing from the night of nought

Into being and to thought;


Every beam of thine dispenses,

Powerful, varied, reaching far,

Differing in every star.

Not an iron rod can lie

In circle of thy beamy eye,

But thy look doth change it so

That it cannot choose but show

Thou, the worker, hast been there;

Yea, sometimes, on substance rare,

Thou dost leave thy ghostly mark

In what men do call the dark.

Doer, shower, mighty teacher!

Truth-in-beauty’s silent preacher!

Universal something sent

To shadow forth the Excellent!
All things most excellent

Are likened unto thee, excellent thing!

Yea, He who from the Father forth was sent,

Came the true Light, light to our hearts to bring;

The Word of God, the telling of His thought;

The Light of God, the making-visible;

The far-transcending glory brought

In human form with man to dwell;

The dazzling gone; the power not less

To show, irradiate, and bless;

The gathering of the primal rays divine,

Informing chaos, to a pure sunshine!
Death, darkness, nothingness!

Life, light, and blessedness!”
George MacDonald

Love is Life, & Love is Death

But love is life. To die of love is then

The only pass to higher life than this.

All love is death to loving, living men;

All deaths are leaps across clefts to the abyss.

Our life is the broken current, Lord, of thine,

Flashing from morn to morn with conscious shine—

Then first by willing death self-made, then life divine.
—George MacDonald

Lord of essential life, help me to die.

To will to die is one with highest life,

The mightiest act that to Will’s hand doth lie—

Born of God’s essence, and of man’s hard strife:

God, give me strength my evil self to kill,

And die into the heaven of thy pure will.—

Then shall this body’s death be very tolerable.

—George MacDonald

Dalroy’s Serenade



Lady, the light is dying in the skies,

Lady, and let us die when honor dies;

Your dear, dropped glove was like a gauntlet flung

When you and I were young,

For something more than splendor stood; and ease was not the only good,

About the woods in Ivywood, when you and I were young.

Lady, the stars are falling pale and small,

Lady, we will not live if life be all,

Forgetting those good stars in heaven hung,

When all the world was young;

For more than gold was in a ring, and love was not a little thing,

Between the trees in Ivywood, when all the world was young.


—GK Chesterton, The Flying Inn