Trifles Over Visions

“We too dull our understandings with trifles, fill the heavenly spaces with phantoms, waste the heavenly time with hurry. To those who possess their souls in patience come the heavenly visions.”
Excerpt From: MacDonald, George. “Unspoken Sermons: Series I., II., and III.” MobileReference, 2010-06-01 09:24:33.168000-04:00. iBooks. 

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Hues of Dreamland

What has been, shall not only be, but is.

     The hues of dreamland, strange and sweet and tender

     Are but hint-shadows of full many a splendour

     Which the high Parent-love will yet unroll

     Before his child’s obedient, humble soul.

     Ah, me, my God! in thee lies every bliss

     Whose shadow men go hunting wearily amiss. 
~George MacDonald

Visions of a True Man

Image result for painting, service to others


We have seen that the moment whatever goes by the name of truth comes into connection with man; the moment that, instead of merely mirroring itself in his intellect as a thing outside of him, it comes into contact with him as a being of action; the moment the knowledge of it affects or ought to affect his sense of duty, it becomes a thing of far nobler import; the question of truth enters upon a higher phase, looks out of a loftier window. A fact which in itself is of no value, becomes at once a matter of life and death–moral life and death, when a man has the choice, the imperative choice of being true or false concerning it.

~ George MacDonald, Unspoken Sermons


“When the truth, the heart, the summit, the crown of a thing, is perceived by a man, he approaches the fountain of truth whence the thing came, and perceiving God by understanding what is, becomes more of a man, more of the being he was meant to be. In virtue of this truth perceived, he has relations with the universe undeveloped in him till then. But far higher will the doing of the least, the most insignificant duty raise him. He begins thereby to be a true man. A man may delight in the vision and glory of a truth, and not himself be true. The man whose vision is weak, but who, as far as he sees, and desirous to see farther, does the thing he sees, is a true man. If a man knows what is, and says it is not, his knowing does not make him less than a liar.


The man who recognizes the truth of any human relation, and neglects the duty involved, is not a true man.

The man who knows the laws of nature, and does not heed them, the more he teaches them to others, the less is he a true man. But he may obey them all and be the falsest of men, because of far higher and closer duties which he neglects. The man who takes good care of himself and none of his brother and sister, is false. A man may be a poet, aware of the highest truth of a thing, of that beauty which is the final cause of its existence; he may draw thence a notion of the creative loveliness that thought it out; he may be a man who would not tell a lie, or steal, or slander–and yet he may not be a true man, inasmuch as the essentials of manhood are not his aim: having nowise come to the flower of his own being, nowise, in his higher degree, attained the truth of a thing–namely, that for which he exists, the creational notion of him–neither is he striving after the same. There are relations closer than those of the facts around him, plainer than those that seem to bring the maker nigh to him, which he is failing to see, or seeing fails to acknowledge, or acknowledging fails to fulfil.


Man is man only in the doing of the truth, perfect man only in the doing of the highest truth, which is the fulfilling of his relations to his origin.

Excerpt From: George MacDonald. “Unspoken Sermons: Series I., II., and III.” iBooks.

Fair Realities

Some things wilt thou not one day turn to dreams?

Some dreams wilt thou not one day turn to fact?

The thing that painful, more than should be, seems,

Shall not thy sliding years with them retract—

Shall fair realities not counteract?

The thing that was well dreamed of bliss and joy—

Wilt thou not breathe thy life into the toy?
~George MacDonald

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 

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