Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Organ Songs. III. “I would I were a child”George MacDonald (1824–1905)
I
That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father!
And follow Thee with running feet, or rather
Be led through dark and wild!
My glad eyes often to Thy glory lifting!
Should darkness ’twixt Thy face and mine come drifting,
My heart would but expand.
I would but creep within Thy mantle’s folding,
Shut my eyes close, Thy hand yet faster holding,
And soon forget my fear.
Thou art God’s child indeed, for all thy sinning;
A poor weak child, yet His, and worth the winning
With saviour eyes and voice.
They are too good, even for such a giver:
Such water drinking once, I should feel ever
As I had drunk but now.
Teaching our lips to cry with His, Our Father!
Telling the tale of him who once did gather
His goods to him, and go!
But it is dark and starless, the way dreary;
Almost I sleep, I am so very weary
Upon this rough hill-road.
There is no darkness save in this my dreaming;
Thy fatherhood above, around, is beaming;
Thy hand my hand doth keep.
I have no knowledge but that I am sleeping;
Haunted with lies, my life will fail in weeping;
Wake me from this my dream.
Deny the day? How long shall this dull sorrow
Say in my heart that never any morrow
Will bring the friendly light?
Come near my bed; oh, draw aside the curtain!
A child’s heart would say Father, were it certain
That it would not presume.
May not be broken, help Thy helpless sleeper
To rest in Thee; so shall his sleep grow deeper—
For evil dreams too deep.
My childhood sure will hold me free from blaming:
Sinful yet hoping, I to Thee come, claiming
Thy tenderness, my strength.