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Poem by George MacDonald
What the Lord Saith
Trust my father, saith the eldest-born; I did trust him ere the earth began; Not to know him is to be forlorn; Not to love him is-not to be man. He that knows him loves him altogether; With my father I am so content That through all this dreary human weather I am working, waiting, confident. He is with me; I am not alone; Life is bliss, because I am his child; Down in Hades will I lay the stone Whence shall rise to Heaven his city piled. Hearken, brothers, pray you, to my story! Hear me, sister; hearken, child, to me: Our one father is a perfect glory; He is light, and there is none but he. Come then with me; I will lead the way; All of you, sore-hearted, heavy-shod, Come to father, yours and mine, I pray; Little ones, I pray you, come to God.
George MacDonald's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org