I May Not Fondle Failing

“Only no word of mine must ever foster

The self that in a brother’s bosom gnaws;

I may not fondle failing, nor the boaster

Encourage with the breath of my applause.

Weakness needs pity, sometimes love’s rebuke;

Strength only sympathy deserves and draws—

And grows by every faithful loving look.

Tis but as men draw nigh to thee, my Lord,

They can draw nigh each other and not hurt.

Who with the gospel of thy peace are girt,

The belt from which doth hang the Spirit’s sword,

Shall breathe on dead bones, and the bones shall live,

Sweet poison to the evil self shall give,

And, clean themselves, lift men clean from the mire abhorred.

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

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A Waking Joy

Is it because it is not thou I see,

But only my poor, blotted fancy of thee?

Oh! never till thyself reveal thy face,

Shall I be flooded with life’s vital grace.

Oh make my mirror-heart thy shining-place,

And then my soul, awaking with the morn,

Shall be a waking joy, eternally new-born.

— George MacDonald

Thou Art Making Me

But thou art making me, I thank thee, sire.

What thou hast done and doest thou know’st well,

And I will help thee:—gently in thy fire

I will lie burning; on thy potter’s-wheel

I will whirl patient, though my brain should reel;

Thy grace shall be enough the grief to quell,

And growing strength perfect through weakness dire.

—George MacDonald

Waiting Watchful for Thy Will

O master, my desires to work, to know,

To be aware that I do live and grow—

All restless wish for anything not thee,

I yield, and on thy altar offer me.

Let me no more from out thy presence go,

But keep me waiting watchful for thy will—

Even while I do it, waiting watchful still.

— 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.

When My Heart Sinks

Help me, my Father, in whatever dismay,

Whatever terror in whatever shape,

To hold the faster by thy garment’s hem;

When my heart sinks, oh, lift it up, I pray;

Thy child should never fear though hell should gape,

Not blench though all the ills that men affray

Stood round him like the Roman round Jerusalem.
George MacDonald

My Only Day


Afresh I seek Thee.

Lead me once more I pray–

Even should it be against my will, Thy way.

Let me not feel Thee foreign any hour,

or shrink from Thee as an estranged power.

Through doubt, through faith, through bliss, through stark dismay;

Through sunshine, wind, or snow, or fog, or shower–

Draw me to Thee who are my only Day.
—George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul