The Complete Poetical Works of George MacDonald. George MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ hands and kisses, ointment, tears,

       Her gathered wiping hair,

       Her love, her shame, her hopes, her fears,

       Mingle in worship rare.

      Thou, Mary, too, thy hair didst spread

       To wipe the anointed feet;

       Nor didst thou only bless his head

       With precious spikenard sweet.

      But none say thou thy tears didst pour

       To wash his parched feet first;

       Of tears thou couldst not have such store

       As from this woman burst!

      If not in love she first be read,

       Her queen of sorrow greet;

       Mary, do thou anoint his head,

       And let her crown his feet.

      Simon, her kisses will not soil;

       Her tears are pure as rain;

       The hair for him she did uncoil

       Had been baptized in pain.

      Lo, God hath pardoned her so much,

       Love all her being stirs!

       His love to his poor child is such

       That it hath wakened hers!

      But oh, rejoice, ye sisters pure,

       Who scarce can know her case—

       There is no sin but has its cure,

       Its all-consuming grace!

      He did not leave her soul in hell,

       'Mong shards the silver dove;

       But raised her pure that she might tell

       Her sisters how to love!

      She gave him all your best love can!

       Despised, rejected, sad—

       Sure, never yet had mighty man

       Such homage as he had!

      Jesus, by whose forgiveness sweet,

       Her love grew so intense,

       Earth's sinners all come round thy feet:

       Lord, make no difference!

      A BOOK OF SONNETS.

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      THE BURNT-OFFERING.

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      Thrice-happy he whose heart, each new-born night,

       When old-worn day hath vanished o'er earth's brim,

       And he hath laid him down in chamber dim,

       Straightway begins to tremble and grow bright,

       And loose faint flashes toward the vaulted height

       Of the great peace that overshadoweth him:

       Keen lambent flames of hope awake and swim

       Throughout his soul, touching each point with light!

       The great earth under him an altar is,

       Upon whose top a sacrifice he lies,

       Burning in love's response up to the skies

       Whose fire descended first and kindled his:

       When slow the flickering flames at length expire,

       Sleep's ashes only hide a glowing fire.

      THE UNSEEN FACE.

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      "I do beseech thee, God, show me thy face."

       "Come up to me in Sinai on the morn!

       Thou shall behold as much as may be borne."

       And on a rock stood Moses, lone in space.

       From Sinai's top, the vaporous, thunderous place,

       God passed in cloud, an earthy garment worn

       To hide, and thus reveal. In love, not scorn,

       He put him in a clift of the rock's base,

       Covered him with his hand, his eyes to screen—

       Passed—lifted it: his back alone appears!

       Ah, Moses, had he turned, and hadst thou seen

       The pale face crowned with thorns, baptized with tears,

       The eyes of the true man, by men belied,

       Thou hadst beheld God's face, and straightway died!

      CONCERNING JESUS.

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      I.

      If thou hadst been a sculptor, what a race

       Of forms divine had thenceforth filled the land!

       Methinks I see thee, glorious workman, stand,

       Striking a marble window through blind space—

       Thy face's reflex on the coming face,

       As dawns the stone to statue 'neath thy hand—

       Body obedient to its soul's command,

       Which is thy thought, informing it with grace!

       So had it been. But God, who quickeneth clay,

       Nor turneth it to marble—maketh eyes,

       Not shadowy СКАЧАТЬ