The Complete Poetical Works of George MacDonald. George MacDonald

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       May dawn a human face.

      What face? Oh, heart-uplifting thought,

       That face may dawn on me

       Which Moses on the mountain sought,

       God would not let him see!

      XXX.

      All faint at first, as wrapt in veil

       Of Sinai's cloudy dark,

       But dawning as I read the tale,

       I slow discern and mark

      A gracious, simple, truthful man,

       Who walks the earth erect,

       Nor stoops his noble head to one

       From fear or false respect;

      Who seeks to climb no high estate,

       No low consent secure,

       With high and low serenely great,

       Because his love is pure.

      Oh not alone, high o'er our reach,

       Our joys and griefs beyond!

       To him 'tis joy divine to teach

       Where human hearts respond;

      And grief divine it was to him

       To see the souls that slept:

       "How often, O Jerusalem!"

       He said, and gazed, and wept.

      Love was his very being's root,

       And healing was its flower;

       Love, human love, its stem and fruit,

       Its gladness and its power.

      Life of high God, till then unseen!

       Undreamt-of glorious show!

       Glad, faithful, childlike, love-serene!—

       How poor am I! how low!

      XXXI.

      As in a living well I gaze,

       Kneeling upon its brink:

       What are the very words he says?

       What did the one man think?

      I find his heart was all above;

       Obedience his one thought;

       Reposing in his father's love,

       His father's will he sought.

      * * * * *

      XXXII.

      Years have passed o'er my broken plan

       To picture out a strife,

       Where ancient Death, in horror wan,

       Faced young and fearing Life.

      More of the tale I tell not so—

       But for myself would say:

       My heart is quiet with what I know,

       With what I hope, is gay.

      And where I cannot set my faith,

       Unknowing or unwise,

       I say "If this be what he saith, Here hidden treasure lies."

      Through years gone by since thus I strove,

       Thus shadowed out my strife,

       While at my history I wove,

       Thou wovest in the life.

      Through poverty that had no lack

       For friends divinely good;

       Through pain that not too long did rack,

       Through love that understood;

      Through light that taught me what to hold

       And what to cast away;

       Through thy forgiveness manifold,

       And things I cannot say,

      Here thou hast brought me—able now

       To kiss thy garment's hem,

       Entirely to thy will to bow,

       And trust thee even for them

      Who in the darkness and the mire

       Walk with rebellious feet,

       Loose trailing, Lo, their soiled attire

       For heavenly floor unmeet!

      Lord Jesus Christ, I know not how—

       With this blue air, blue sea,

       This yellow sand, that grassy brow,

       All isolating me—

      Thy thoughts to mine themselves impart,

       My thoughts to thine draw near;

       But thou canst fill who mad'st my heart,

       Who gav'st me words must hear.

      Thou mad'st the hand with which I write,

       The eye that watches slow

       Through rosy gates that rosy light

       Across thy threshold go;

      Those waves that bend in golden spray,

       As if thy foot they bore:

       I think I know thee, Lord, to-day,

       Shall know thee evermore.

      I know thy father thine and mine:

       Thou the great fact hast bared:

       Master, the mighty words are thine—

       Such I had never dared!

      Lord, thou hast much to make me yet—

       Thy father's infant still:

       Thy mind, Son, in my bosom set,

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