Shall We Bemoan Any Darkness?

One of the main points of The Man Who Was Thursday…

“Shall we then bemoan any darkness? Shall we not rather gird up our strength to encounter it, that we too from our side may break the passage for the light beyond it? He who fights with the dark shall know the gentleness that makes man great – the dawning countenance of the God of hope. But that was not for Cosmo just yet. The night must fulfill it’s hours. Men are meant and sent to be troubled — that they may rise above the whole region of storm, above all possibility of being troubled.”

George MacDonald, Castle Warlock

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The Hidden Paths

Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate

And though I oft have passed them by

A day will come at last when I

Shall take the hidden paths that run

West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

—JRR Tolkien

The Good is Always Coming

Yet I know that good is coming to me – the good is always coming; though few have at all times the simplicity and the courage to believe it. What we call evil, is the only and best shape, which, for the person and his condition at the time, could be assumed by the best good. And so, farewell.

—George MacDonald

Hope

In that wretched hovel, his bare feet clasping the clay floor in constant search of a wavering equilibrium, with pitch darkness around him, and incapable of the simplest philosophical or religious reflection, he yet found life good. For it had interest. May, more, it had hope. I doubt however, whether there is any interest at all without hope.

—George MacDonald

Because Thou Knowest

I cannot tell why this day I am ill;

But I am well because it is thy will—

Which is to make me pure and right like thee.

Not yet I need escape—’tis bearable

Because thou knowest. And when harder things

Shall rise and gather, and overshadow me,

I shall have comfort in thy strengthenings.

Master, Thou Workest 

Master, thou workest with such common things—Low souls, weak hearts, I mean—and hast to use,

Therefore, such common means and rescuings,

That hard we find it, as we sit and muse,

To think thou workest in us verily:

Bad sea-boats we, and manned with wretched crews—

That doubt the captain, watch the storm-spray flee.

— George MacDonald