Then He Comes in

When we think Christ, Christ comes; when we receive his image into our spiritual mirror, he enters with it. Our thought is not cut off from his. Our open receiving thought is his door to come in. When our hearts turn to him, that is opening the door to him, that is holding up our mirror to him; then he comes in, not by our thought only, not in our idea only, but he comes himself, and of his own will–comes in as we could not take him, but as he can come and we receive him–enabled to receive by his very coming the one welcome guest of the whole universe.

George MacDonald, Mirrors of the Lord

Advertisements

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.

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