Caricamento in corso...
it
English Español Français Italiano

George MacDonald

The Diary of an Old Soul - Dedication

Sweet friends, receive my offering. You will find
Against each worded page a white page set:-
This is the mirror of each friendly mind
Reflecting that. In this book we are met.
Make it, dear hearts, of worth to you indeed:-
Let your white page be ground, my print be seed,
Growing to golden ears, that faith and hope shall feed.
 
YOUR OLD SOUL

#ScottishWriters

Altre opere di George MacDonald...
Evil Influence

’Tis not the violent hands alone t… The curse, the ravage, and the dow… Although to these full oft the yaw… Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener… A more immortal agony will cling
Spring Song

Days of old, Ye are not dead, though gone from… Ye are not cold, But like the summer-birds fled o’e… The sun brings back the swallows f…
The Sparrow

O Lord, I cannot but believe The birds do sing thy praises then… And they are lying seed-sown land… Their little bosoms breeding songs… If thou hadst finished me, O Lord…
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 Girl That Lost Things

There was a girl that lost things– Nor only from her hand; She lost, indeed-why, most things, As if they had been sand! She said, 'But I must use them,
 1
God; Not Gift

Gray clouds my heaven have covered… My sea ebbs fast, no more to flow; Ghastly and dry, my desert shore Parched, bare, unsightly things do… ’Tis thou, Lord, cloudest up my s…
Godly Ballants

I.-THIS SIDE AN’ THAT. The rich man sat in his father’s s… Purple an’ linen, an’ a’thing fine… The puir man lay at his yett i’ th… Sairs an’ tatters, an’ weary pine!
From Novalis

Uplifted is the stone And all mankind arisen! We are thy very own, We are no more in prison! What bitterest grief can stay
The Sang O’ the Auld Fowk

Doon cam the sunbeams, and up gaed… As we spangt ower the road at ten… The horse wasna timmer, the cart w… And little cared we for the burn o… We war young, and the hert in’s wa…
A Song-Sermon

Job XIV. 13-15. RONDEL. Would that thou hid me in the grav… And kept me with death’s gaoler-ca… Until thy wrath away should wear
The Dwellers Within

Down a warm alley, early in the ye… Among the woods, with all the suns… And all the winds outside it, I b… To think that something gracious w… If anything of grace inhabit here,
Little Boy Blue

Little Boy Blue lost his way in a… Sing apples and cherries, roses an… He said, 'I would not go back if… It’s all so jolly and funny!’ He sang, ‘This wood is all my own…
An Old Sermon With a New Text

My wife contrived a fleecy thing Her husband to infold, For ’tis the pride of woman still To cover from the cold: My daughter made it a new text
To my Aging Friends

It is no winter night comes down Upon our hearts, dear friends of o… But a May evening, softly brown, Whose wind is rather cold. We are not, like yon sad-eyed Wes…
A Lown Nicht

Rose o’ my hert, Open yer leaves to the lampin mune… Into the curls lat her keek an’ de… She’ll tak the colour but gie ye t… Buik o’ my brain,



Top