Читать книгу The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 1 - George MacDonald - Страница 8

  Julian.

  So lies my journey—on into the dark!

  Without my will I find myself alive,

  And must go forward. Is it God that draws

  Magnetic all the souls unto their home,

  Travelling, they know not how, but unto God?

  It matters little what may come to me

  Of outward circumstance, as hunger, thirst,

  Social condition, yea, or love or hate;

  But what shall I be, fifty summers hence?

  My life, my being, all that meaneth me,

  Goes darkling forward into something—what?

  O God, thou knowest. It is not my care.

  If thou wert less than truth, or less than love,

  It were a fearful thing to be and grow

  We know not what. My God, take care of me;

  Pardon and swathe me in an infinite love,

  Pervading and inspiring me, thy child.

  And let thy own design in me work on,

  Unfolding the ideal man in me;

  Which being greater far than I have grown,

  I cannot comprehend. I am thine, not mine.

  One day, completed unto thine intent,

  I shall be able to discourse with thee;

  For thy Idea, gifted with a self,

  Must be of one with the mind where it sprang,

  And fit to talk with thee about thy thoughts.

  Lead me, O Father, holding by thy hand;

  I ask not whither, for it must be on.

  This road will lead me to the hills, I think;

  And there I am in safety and at home.