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Old MacDonald had a poem.

M

Mr E

Guest
I love the old writings of George MacDonald. They stir me. This thread will be dedicated to his poetry and the Diary of an Old Soul, in particular, my favorite.


I lay and dreamed. The master came
In his old woven dress;
I stood in joy, and yet in shame,
Oppressed with earthliness.

He stretched his arms, and gently sought
To clasp me to his soul;
I shrunk away, because I thought
He did not know the whole.

I did not love him as I would,
Embraces were not meet;
I sank before him where he stood,
And held and kissed his feet.

Ten years have passed away since then,
Oft hast thou come to me;
The question scarce will rise again,
Whether I care for thee.

To every doubt, in thee my heart
An answer hopes to find;
In every gladness, Lord, thou art,
The deeper joy behind.

And yet in other realms of life,
Unknown temptations rise,
Unknown perplexities and strife,
New questions and replies.

(Excerpt from A Book of Dreams)
 
Mr E said:
I love the old writings of George MacDonald. They stir me. This thread will be dedicated to his poetry and the Diary of an Old Soul, in particular, my favorite.


I lay and dreamed. The master came
In his old woven dress;
I stood in joy, and yet in shame,
Oppressed with earthliness.

He stretched his arms, and gently sought
To clasp me to his soul;
I shrunk away, because I thought
He did not know the whole.

I did not love him as I would,
Embraces were not meet;
I sank before him where he stood,
And held and kissed his feet.

Ten years have passed away since then,
Oft hast thou come to me;
The question scarce will rise again,
Whether I care for thee.

To every doubt, in thee my heart
An answer hopes to find;
In every gladness, Lord, thou art,
The deeper joy behind.

And yet in other realms of life,
Unknown temptations rise,
Unknown perplexities and strife,
New questions and replies.

(Excerpt from A Book of Dreams)
Click to expand...
Great poem. My favorite is Hound of Heaven by Francis Thomson. It is too long to post here but I will give the first verse.

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,

Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,

Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

They beat - and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet -

'All things betray thee, who betrayest Me'.
 
Sometimes I wake, and, lo! I have forgot,
And drifted out upon an ebbing sea!
My soul that was at rest now resteth not,
For I am with myself and not with thee;
Truth seems a blind moon in a glaring morn,
Where nothing is but sick-heart vanity:
Oh, thou who knowest! save thy child forlorn.
 
I'm going to post George's Diary here in it's entirety. It's an entire year worth of his prose, offered day by day in the form of a journal. I'm going to post a few stanza's at a time simply for the enjoyment of it, for the beauty of his thoughts set to words on a page, but through these words he tells a story that I love. I hope others enjoy them also.... Please feel free to interrupt my postings to discuss anything that might stir you as I am also stirred by these words that remind me so often of similar verse that my old Cowboy friend once shared with me, that awakened my own soul. For those unfamiliar-- George MacDonald was a Scottish preacher who died in 1905. If you love and appreciate the writings of CS Lewis, Lewis himself considered George MacDonald to have been the literary 'master' he most appreciated. He preached- God's universal love and that everyone was capable of redemption.

1. January.

LORD, what I once had done with youthful might,
Had I been from the first true to the truth,
Grant me, now old, to do--with better sight,
And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth;
So wilt thou, in thy gentleness and ruth,
Lead back thy old soul, by the path of pain,
Round to his best--young eyes and heart and brain.

2.

A dim aurora rises in my east,
Beyond the line of jagged questions hoar,
As if the head of our intombed High Priest
Began to glow behind the unopened door:
Sure the gold wings will soon rise from the gray!--
They rise not. Up I rise, press on the more,
To meet the slow coming of the Master's day.

3. (my favorite)

Sometimes I wake, and, lo! I have forgot,
And drifted out upon an ebbing sea!
My soul that was at rest now resteth not,
For I am with myself and not with thee;
Truth seems a blind moon in a glaring morn,
Where nothing is but sick-heart vanity:
Oh, thou who knowest! save thy child forlorn.

4.

Death, like high faith, levelling, lifteth all.
When I awake, my daughter and my son,
Grown sister and brother, in my arms shall fall,
Tenfold my girl and boy. Sure every one
Of all the brood to the old wings will run.
Whole-hearted is my worship of the man
From whom my earthly history began.
 
A personal Poem


The morning glory

In the morning of your love day breaks forth anew . The fast is surely broken as I awake my hunger turns toward you. The brightness of your love finds me waiting here filing my cup to overflowing. This is your love for sure that leads us to knowing . Your love has so wakened me as it desired so this cannot be mistaken where your light leads me I will surely go .

Now looking in hopeful anticipation the gates of fellowship sing open anew and in humble adoration we follow your light that lead us through.

Step by step we follow your light upon the path and marvel at the fact for our trespass you have paid as we continue in your Love

Walking with Joy towards your mansion. . we stop to take a drink for the river of your delight this raises our hope like putting on armor we are strengthened by the power of your might

Times along the journey are sometimes rough as we know. A stone may cause us to stumble in this dark a dreary valley so far below.

We can feel overshadowed and falling behind in this dark valley wondering how much further echoes in our minds.

Suddenly lifter high on a solid rock we stand looking to you to speak a word but only sigh. We ask that we might see you glorious face please do not deny, to a cleft in the rock you move us we ask is that his reply ?

A cloud of your witness now veil the light as your glory passes by . Now blinded by this wonderful light your veil lifts on high

Sounds of the battle we faintly hear as we look or vision still blurry and marred. You are our shield of faith our rear guard

Us stragglers and strays you left not behind but in love you said follow me .You have made the victory sure by your blood you have set us free

Such unfailing love that recues those you bought such love that has no end. We thank you Jesus for being our savior and also being our friend
 
Mr G Lee said:
A personal Poem


The morning glory

In the morning of your love day breaks forth anew . The fast is surely broken as I awake my hunger turns toward you. The brightness of your love finds me waiting here filing my cup to overflowing. This is your love for sure that leads us to knowing . Your love has so wakened me as it desired so this cannot be mistaken where your light leads me I will surely go .

Now looking in hopeful anticipation the gates of fellowship sing open anew and in humble adoration we follow your light that lead us through.

Step by step we follow your light upon the path and marvel at the fact for our trespass you have paid as we continue in your Love

Walking with Joy towards your mansion. . we stop to take a drink for the river of your delight this raises our hope like putting on armor we are strengthened by the power of your might

Times along the journey are sometimes rough as we know. A stone may cause us to stumble in this dark a dreary valley so far below.

We can feel overshadowed and falling behind in this dark valley wondering how much further echoes in our minds.

Suddenly lifter high on a solid rock we stand looking to you to speak a word but only sigh. We ask that we might see you glorious face please do not deny, to a cleft in the rock you move us we ask is that his reply ?

A cloud of your witness now veil the light as your glory passes by . Now blinded by this wonderful light your veil lifts on high

Sounds of the battle we faintly hear as we look or vision still blurry and marred. You are our shield of faith our rear guard

Us stragglers and strays you left not behind but in love you said follow me .You have made the victory sure by your blood you have set us free

Such unfailing love that recues those you bought such love that has no end. We thank you Jesus for being our savior and also being our friend
Click to expand...

Beautiful. --and you say revelation has ended....
 
Mr E said:
I love the old writings of George MacDonald. They stir me. This thread will be dedicated to his poetry and the Diary of an Old Soul, in particular, my favorite.


I lay and dreamed. The master came
In his old woven dress;
I stood in joy, and yet in shame,
Oppressed with earthliness.

He stretched his arms, and gently sought
To clasp me to his soul;
I shrunk away, because I thought
He did not know the whole.

I did not love him as I would,
Embraces were not meet;
I sank before him where he stood,
And held and kissed his feet.

Ten years have passed away since then,
Oft hast thou come to me;
The question scarce will rise again,
Whether I care for thee.

To every doubt, in thee my heart
An answer hopes to find;
In every gladness, Lord, thou art,
The deeper joy behind.

And yet in other realms of life,
Unknown temptations rise,
Unknown perplexities and strife,
New questions and replies.

(Excerpt from A Book of Dreams)
Click to expand...
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
 
Samson Occom .. . I call the last of the Mohegans

He came to Christ under George Whitefield around 1740, and was educated by Revs. Eleazor Wheelock and Benjamin Pomeroy.
In 1748, he moved to Montauk, Long Island, New York, where he worked among a remnant of Indians there. In 1759, he was ordained a Presbyterian minister. In 1766–67, he traveled to England. As he was the first Indian preacher who had visited there, he drew immense audiences. In a little over a year, he preached four hundred sermons (including one for John Newton at Olney), and collected over $45,000 for his cause of an Indian Charity School, but Eleazor Wheelock betrayed Occom and used the funds to purchase land for himself and help fund what is now Dartmouth College.


Awaked by Sinai’s awful sound,
My soul in bonds of guilt I found,
And knew not where to go;
Eternal truth did loud proclaim,
The sinner must be born again,
Or sink to endless woe.

Amazed I stood, but could not tell
Which way to shun the gates of hell,
For death and hell drew near;
I strove, indeed, but strove in vain;
The sinner must be born again
Still sounded in my ear.

When to the law I trembling fled,
It poured its curses on my head;
I no relief could find.
This fearful truth increased my pain;
The sinner must be born again
O’erwhelmed my tortured mind.

Again did Sinai’s thunders roll,
And guilt lay heavy on my soul,
A vast oppressive load;
Alas, I read and saw it plain,
The sinner must be born again,
Or drink the wrath of God.

The saints I heard with rapture tell
How Jesus conquered death and hell,
And broke the fowler’s snare;
Yet when I found this truth remain,
The sinner must be born again,
I sank in deep despair.

But while I thus in anguish lay,
The gracious Savior passed this way,
And felt His pity move;
The sinner, by His justice slain,
Now by His grace is born again;
And sings redeeming love.

To Heaven the joyful tidings flew,
The angels tuned their harps anew,
And loftier sounds did raise;
All hail the Lamb that once was slain,
Unnumbered millions born again,
Shall shout Thy endless praise.
 
Fear no more,

You have God and Jesus make you born again.

Just follow Them with all your might.
 
The_drake_ said:
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Click to expand...

I never expected such a rich poetry environment here— love it!
 
5.

Thy fishes breathe but where thy waters roll;
Thy birds fly but within thy airy sea;
My soul breathes only in thy infinite soul;
I breathe, I think, I love, I live but thee.
Oh breathe, oh think,--O Love, live into me;
Unworthy is my life till all divine,
Till thou see in me only what is thine.

6.

Then shall I breathe in sweetest sharing, then
Think in harmonious consort with my kin;
Then shall I love well all my father's men,
Feel one with theirs the life my heart within.
Oh brothers! sisters holy! hearts divine!
Then I shall be all yours, and nothing mine--
To every human heart a mother-twin.

7.

I see a child before an empty house,
Knocking and knocking at the closed door;
He wakes dull echoes--but nor man nor mouse,
If he stood knocking there for evermore.--
A mother angel, see! folding each wing,
Soft-walking, crosses straight the empty floor,
And opens to the obstinate praying thing.
 
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