O, Treasure!

Extinguish my eyes, I still can see you,

Close my ears, I can hear your footsteps fall,

And without feet I still can follow you,

And without voice I still can to you call.

Break off my arms, and I can embrace you,

Enfold you with my heart as with a hand.

Hold my heart, my brain will take fire of you

As flax ignites from a lit fire-brand—

And flame will sweep in a swift rushing flood

Through all the singing currents of my blood.

In the deep nights I dig for you, O Treasure!

To seek you over the wide world I roam,

For all abundance is but meager measure

Of your bright beauty which is yet to come.

Excerpt From

The Book of Hours

Rainer Maria Rilke

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-book-of-hours/id980491166?mt=11

This material may be protected by copyright.

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Thy Presence

“I AM a little weary of my life—

Not thy life, blessed Father! Or the blood

Too slowly laves the coral shores of thought,

Or I am weary of weariness and strife.

Open my soul-gates to thy living flood;

I ask not larger heart-throbs, vigour-fraught,

I pray thy presence, with strong patience rife.”

~George MacDonald

Beth-el

Too eager I must not be to understand.

How should the work the master goes about

Fit the vague sketch my compasses have planned?

I am his house—for him to go in and out.

He builds me now—and if I cannot see

At any time what he is doing with me,

‘Tis that he makes the house for me too grand.

—George MacDonald

Evening Hymn

O God, whose daylight leadeth down

Into the sunless way,

Who with restoring sleep doest crown

The labour of the day!

What I have done, Lord, make it clean

With thy forgiveness dear;

That so today what might have been,

Tomorrow may appear.

And when my thought is all astray,

Yet think thou on in me;

That with the newborn innocent day

My soul rise fresh and free.

Nor let me wander all in vain

Through dreams that mock and flee;

But even in visions of the brain,

Go wandering toward thee.

—George MacDonald

I Look to Thee

My God, I look to thee for tenderness

Such as I could not seek from any man,

Or in a human heart fancy or plan—

A something deepest prayer will not express:

Lord, with thy breath blow on my being’s fires,

Until, even to the soul with self-love wan,

I yield the primal love, that no return desires.

—George MacDonald, The Diary of an Old Soul

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