Mirls

A poem by George MacDonald

The stars are steady abune;
I' the water they flichter and flee;
But, steady aye, luikin doon
They ken theirsels i' the sea.

A' licht, and clear, and free,
God, thou shinest abune;
Yet luik, and see thysel in me,
Aye on me luikin doon.



Throu the heather an' how gaed the creepin thing,
But abune was the waff o' an angel's wing.



Hither an' thither, here an' awa,
Into the dub ye maunna fa';
Oot o' the dub wad ye come wi' speed,
Ye maun lift yer han's abune yer heid.



Whaur's nor sun nor mune,
Laigh things come abune.



My thouchts are like worms in a starless gloamin
My hert's like a sponge that's fillit wi' gall;
My soul's like a bodiless ghaist sent a roamin
I' the haar an' the mirk till the trumpet call.

Lord, turn ilk worm til a butterflee,
Wring oot my hert, an' fill 't frae thy ain;
My soul syne in patience its weird will dree,
An' luik for the mornin throu the rain.

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