A Prayer For The Past.

A poem by George MacDonald

Now far from my old northern land,
I live where gentle winters pass;
Where green seas lave a wealthy strand,
And unsown is the grass;

Where gorgeous sunsets claim the scope
Of gazing heaven to spread their show,
Hang scarlet clouds in the topmost cope,
With fringes flaming low;

With one beside me in whose eyes
Once more old Nature finds a home;
There treasures up her changeful skies,
Her phosphorescent foam.

O'er a new joy this day we bend,
Soft power from heaven our souls to lift;
A wondering wonder thou dost lend
With loan outpassing gift--

A little child. She sees the sun--
Once more incarnates thy old law:
One born of two, two born in one,
Shall into one three draw.

But is there no day creeping on
Which I should tremble to renew?
I thank thee, Lord, for what is gone--
Thine is the future too!

And are we not at home in Thee,
And all this world a visioned show,
That, knowing what Abroad is, we
What Home is too may know?

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