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

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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

Thou Art my Home

"That man is perfect in faith who can come to God in the utter dearth of his feelings and his desires, without a glow or an aspiration, with the weight of low thoughts, failures, neglects, and wandering forgetfulness, and say to him, 'Thou art my refuge, because thou art my home.'"

-George MacDonald

Be Thou by Us

From "David Elginbrod": the prayer at the cottage:

“O thou, wha keeps the stars alicht, an’ our souls burnin’ wi’ a licht aboon that o’ the stars, grant that they may shine afore thee as the stars for ever and ever. An’ as thou hauds the stars burnin’ a’ the nicht, whan there’s no man to see, so haud thou the licht burnin’ in our souls, whan we see neither thee nor it, but are buried in the grave o’ sleep an’ forgetfu’ness. Be thou by us, even as a mother sits by the bedside o’ her ailin’ wean a’ the lang nicht; only be thou nearer to us, even in our verra souls, an’ watch ower the warl’ o’ dreams that they mak’ for themsels. Grant that more an’ more thochts o’ thy thinkin’ may come into our herts day by day, till there shall be at last an open road atween thee an’ us, an’ thy angels may ascend and descend upon us, so that we may be in thy heaven, e’en while we are upo’ thy earth: Amen.”

— George MacDonald

So beautiful, so loving and gentle. May we learn to be more like that. 🌸

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