VII.

Doors and windows, tents and grave-clothes, winters and eggs and seeds,

Ye shall all be opened and broken and torn; ye are but to serve my needs!

On the will of the Father all lovely things are strung like a string of

beads

For his heart to give the obedient child that the will of the father

heeds.

_SONG-PRAYER_: AFTER KING DAVID.

I shall be satisfied

With the seeing of thy face.

When I awake, wide-eyed,

I shall be satisfied

With what this life did hide,

The one supernal grace!

I shall be satisfied

With the seeing of thy face.

_DECEMBER 27, 1879_

Every time would have its song

If the heart were right,

Seeing Love all tender-strong

Fills the day and night.

Weary drop the hands of Prayer

Calling out for peace;

Love always and everywhere

Sings and does not cease.

Fear, the caitiff, through the night

Silent peers about;

Love comes singing with a light

And doth cast him out.

Hate and Guile and Wrath and Doubt

Never try to sing;

If they did, oh, what a rout

Anguished ears would sting!

Pride indeed will sometimes aim

At the finer speech,

But the best that he can frame

Is a peacock-screech.

Greed will also sometimes try:

Happiness he hunts!

But his dwelling is a sty,

And his tones are grunts.

Faith will sometimes raise a song

Soaring up to heaven,

Then she will be silent long,

And will weep at even.

Hope has many a gladsome note

Now and then to pipe;

But, alas, he has the throat

Of a bird unripe.

Often Joy a stave will start

Which the welkin rends,

But it always breaks athwart,

And untimely ends.

Grief, who still for death doth long,

Always self-abhorred,

Has but one low, troubled song,

_I am sorry, Lord_.

But Love singeth in the vault.

Singeth on the stair;

Even for Sorrow will not halt,

Singeth everywhere.

For the great Love everywhere

Over all doth glow;

Draws his birds up trough the air,

Tends his birds below.

And with songs ascending sheer

Love-born Love replies,

Singing _Father_ in his ear

Where she bleeding lies.

Therefore, if my heart were right

I should sing out clear,

Sing aloud both day and night

Every month in the year!

_SUNDAY_,

The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2 · 第 99 / 133 题