Poem by George MacDonald

Fate

Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I
Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven
Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven
Black passages which have not any sky:
The scourge is on me now, with all the cry
Of ancient life that hath with murder striven.
How many an anguish hath gone up to heaven,
How many a hand in prayer been lifted high
When the black fate came onward with the rush
Of whirlwind, avalanche, or fiery spume!
Even at my feet is cleft a shivering tomb
Beneath the waves; or else, with solemn hush
The graveyard opens, and I feel a crush
As if we were all huddled in one doom! 

1. The Gospel Women. 6. The Woman whom Satan had bound
2. The Gospel Women. 2. The Woman that lifted up her Voice
3. The Gospel Women. 15. Mary
4. The Gospel Women. 11. The Woman of Samaria
5. The Gospel Women. 8. The Widow with the Two Mites

Francis Bret Harte Fate ("The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare")

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