Читать книгу The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2 - George MacDonald - Страница 2

Behind my father's cottage lies

  A gentle grassy height

Up which I often ran—to gaze

  Back with a wondering sight,

For then the chimneys I thought high

  Were down below me quite!

All round, where'er I turned mine eyes,

  Huge hills closed up the view;

The town 'mid their converging roots

  Was clasped by rivers two;

From, one range to another sprang

  The sky's great vault of blue.

It was a joy to climb their sides,

  And in the heather lie!

A joy to look at vantage down

  On the castle grim and high!

Blue streams below, white clouds above,

  In silent earth and sky!

And now, where'er my feet may roam,

  At sight of stranger hill

A new sense of the old delight

  Springs in my bosom still,

And longings for the high unknown

  Their ancient channels fill.

For I am always climbing hills,

  From the known to the unknown—

Surely, at last, on some high peak,

  To find my Father's throne,

Though hitherto I have only found

  His footsteps in the stone!

And in my wanderings I did meet

  Another searching too:

The dawning hope, the shared quest

  Our thoughts together drew;

Fearless she laid her band in mine

  Because her heart was true.

She was not born among the hills,

  Yet on each mountain face

A something known her inward eye

  By inborn light can trace;

For up the hills must homeward be,

  Though no one knows the place.

Clasp my hand close, my child, in thine—

  A long way we have come!

Clasp my hand closer yet, my child,

  Farther we yet must roam—

Climbing and climbing till we reach

  Our heavenly father's home.