A Winter Prayer

“O That Thou Wouldst Rend the Heavens and Come Down!”

Come through the gloom of clouded skies,

The slow dim rain and fog athwart,

Through East winds keen and wrong and lies,

Come and make strong my hopeless heart.

Come through the sickness and the pain,

The sore unrest that tosses still,

The aching dark that hides the gain –

Come and arouse my fainting will.

Come through the prate of foolish words,

The Science with no Lord behind,

Through all the pangs of untuned chords

Speak wisdom to my shaken mind.

Through all the fears –that spirits bow-

Of what hath been or may befall,

Come down and talk with me, for thou

Canst tell me about them all.

Come, Lord of Life -here is thy seat,

Heart of all joy below, above –

One minute let me kiss thy feet

And name the names of those I love.

For, when thou comest, well I know

Thou wast not all the time away;

And strong I rise, when thou dost go,

To meet the dark another day.

~George MacDonald, from The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

Drops on the Floor

“If I were now writing a book I could bring the question between those thinkers and myself to a much finer point. One of them described Romanticism as ‘spilled religion’. I accept the description. And I agree that he who has religion ought not to spill it. But does it follow that he who finds it spilled should avert his eyes? How if there is a man to whom those bright drops on the floor are the beginning of a trail which, duly followed, will lead him in the end to taste the cup itself? How if no other trail, humanly speaking, were possible?”

Excerpt From

The Pilgrim’s Regress

Lewis, C. S. (Clive Staples)

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Myth, for Lewis

Myth for Lewis, of course, meant not “a fictitious story or unscientific account,” but the use of narrative structure and archetypal elements to convey through the imagination universal or divine truth not accessible to the intellect alone.

Peter Shaekel, Reason and imagination in CS Lewis

The Only Hope

The dove descending breaks the air

With flame of incandescent terror

Of which the tongues declare

The one dischage from sin and error.

The only hope, or else despair

Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre-

To be redeemed from fire by fire.

Who then devised the torment? Love.

Love is the unfamiliar Name

Behind the hands that wove

The intolerable shirt of flame

Which human power cannot remove.

We only live, only suspire

Consumed by either fire or fire.

TS Eliot


“Get up early and go to the mountain and watch God make a morning. The full gray will give way as God pushes the sun toward the horizon, and there will be tints and hues of every shade that will blend into one perfect light as the full-orbed sun bursts into view. As the King of day moves forth majestically, flooding the earth and every lowly vale, listen to the music of heaven’s choir as it sings the majesty of God and the glory of the morning.

In the holy hush of early dawn

I hear a Voice ~

‘I am with you all the day,

Rejoice! Rejoice!’

The clear pure light of the morning made me long for the truth in my heart which alone could make me pure and clear as the morning, tune me up to the concert pitch of nature around me. And the wind that blew from the sunrise made me hope in the God who had first breathed into my nostrils the breath of life; that He would at length so fill me with His breath, His mind, His Spirit, that I should think only His thoughts, and live His life, finding therein my own life, only glorified infinitely. What should we poor humans do without our God’s nights and mornings?”

– George MacDonald