My Heart’s Life

No place on earth henceforth I shall count strange,

For every place belongeth to my Christ.

I will go calm where’er thou bid’st me range;

Whoe’er my neighbour, thou art still my nighest.

Oh my heart’s life, my owner, will of my being!

Into my soul thou every moment diest,

In thee my life thus evermore decreeing.

– George MacDonald

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A Strange Hopefulness

Give me, take from me, as thou wilt. I learn—

Slowly and stubbornly I learn to yield

With a strange hopefulness. As from the field

Of hard-fought battle won, the victor chief

Turns thankfully, although his heart do yearn,

So from my old things to thy new I turn,

With sad, thee-trusting heart, and not in grief.

–George MacDonald

Love is Life

“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.”

Excerpt From

A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul

George MacDonald

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-book-of-strife-in-the-form-of-the-diary-of-an-old-soul/id499797732?mt=11

This material may be protected by copyright.

More Help

My God, it troubles me I am not better.

More help, I pray, still more. Thy perfect debtor

I shall be when thy perfect child I am grown.

My Father, help me—am I not thine own?

Lo, other lords have had dominion o’er me,

But now thy will alone I set before me:

Thy own heart’s life—Lord, thou wilt not abhor me! — George MacDonald

In honour of Hal Owen

Heir of Earth and Heaven

With thee on board, each sailor is a king

Nor I mere captain of my vessel then,

But heir of earth and heaven, eternal child;

Daring all truth, nor fearing anything;

Mighty in love, the servant of all men;

Resenting nothing, taking rage and blare

Into the Godlike silence of a loving care.

I cannot see, my God, a reason why

From morn to night I go not gladsome free;

For, if thou art what my soul thinketh thee,

There is no burden but should lightly lie,

No duty but a joy at heart must be:

Love’s perfect will can be nor sore nor small,

For God is light—in him no darkness is at all.

Tis something thus to think, and half to trust—

But, ah! my very heart, God-born, should lie

Spread to the light, clean, clear of mire and rust,

And like a sponge drink the divine sunbeams.

What resolution then, strong, swift, and high!

What pure devotion, or to live or die!

And in my sleep, what true, what perfect dreams!

Excerpt From

A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul

George MacDonald

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-book-of-strife-in-the-form-of-the-diary-of-an-old-soul/id499797732?mt=11

This material may be protected by copyright.

With a Dark Thing to Reason of the Light?

The worst power of an evil mood is this –

it makes the bastard self seem in the right,

Self, self the end, the goal of human bliss.

But if the Christ-self in us be the might

Of Saving God, why should I spend my force

With a dark thing to reason of the light –

Not push it rough aside, and hold obedient course?

~George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul, 02/02