Poem by George MacDonald

On the Source of the Arve

Hears't thou the dash of water, loud and hoarse,
With its perpetual tidings upward climb,
Struggling against the wind? Oh, how sublime!
For not in vain from its portentous source
Thy heart, wild stream, hath yearned for its full force,
But from thine ice-toothed caverns, dark as time,
At last thou issuest, dancing to the rime
Of thy outvolleying freedom! Lo, thy course
Lies straight before thee as the arrow flies!
Right to the ocean-plains away, away!
Thy parent waits thee, and her sunset dyes
Are ruffled for thy coming, and the gray
Of all her glittering borders flashes high
Against the glittering rocks!—oh, haste, and fly!

1. The Gospel Women. 16. The Woman That Was a Sinner
2. The Gospel Women. 3. The Mother of Zebedee's Children
3. The Gospel Women. 7. The Woman Who Came behind Him in the Crowd
4. The Gospel Women. 13. The Woman in the Temple
5. The Gospel Women. 1. The Mother Mary

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