I Search Yet More

“Thy mind, my master, I will dare explore;

What we are told, that we are meant to know.

Into thy soul I search yet more and more,

Led by the lamp of my desire and woe.

If thee, my Lord, I may not understand,

I am a wanderer in a houseless land,

A weeping thirst by hot winds ever fanned.”

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.

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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.

I Must Be Pure

Keep me from wrath, let it seem ever so right:

My wrath will never work thy righteousness.

Up, up the hill, to the whiter than snow-shine,

Help me to climb, and dwell in pardon’s light.

I must be pure as thou, or ever less

Than thy design of me—therefore incline

My heart to take men’s wrongs as thou tak’st mine.

Lord, in thy spirit’s hurricane, I pray,

Strip my soul naked—dress it then thy way.

Change for me all my rags to cloth of gold.

Who would not poverty for riches yield?

A hovel sell to buy a treasure-field?

Who would a mess of porridge careful hold

Against the universe’s birthright old?

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

My Home

I will not shift my ground like Moab’s king,

But from this spot whereon I stand, I pray—

From this same barren rock to thee I say,

“Lord, in my commonness, in this very thing

That haunts my soul with folly—through the clay

Of this my pitcher, see the lamp’s dim flake;

And hear the blow that would the pitcher break.

Be thou the well by which I lie and rest;

Be thou my tree of life, my garden ground;

Be thou my home, my fire, my chamber blest,

My book of wisdom, loved of all the best;

Oh, be my friend, each day still newer found,

As the eternal days and nights go round!

Nay, nay—thou art my God, in whom all loves are bound!”

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.