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George MacDonald - My Heart
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I.

Night, with her power to silence day,
Filled up my lonely room,
Quenching all sounds but one that lay
Beyond her passing doom,
Where in his shed a workman gay
Went on despite the gloom.

I listened, and I knew the sound,
And the trade that he was plying;
For backwards, forwards, bound on bound,
A shuttle was flying, flying—
Weaving ever—till, all unwound,
The weft go out a sighing.


II.

As hidden in thy chamber lowest
As in the sky the lark,
Thou, mystic thing, on working goest
Without the poorest spark,
And yet light`s garment round me throwest,
Who else, as thou, were dark.

With body ever clothing me,
Thou mak`st me child of light;
I look, and, Lo, the earth and sea,
The sky`s rejoicing height,
A woven glory, globed by thee,
Unknowing of thy might!

And when thy darkling labours fail,
And thy shuttle moveless lies,
My world will drop, like untied veil
From before a lady`s eyes;
Or, all night read, a finished tale
That in the morning dies.


III.

Yet not in vain dost thou unroll
The stars, the world, the seas—
A mighty, wonder-painted scroll
Of Patmos mysteries,
Thou mediator `twixt my soul
And higher things than these!

Thy holy ephod bound on me,
I pass into a seer;
For still in things thou mak`st me see,
The unseen grows more clear;
Still their indwelling Deity
Speaks plainer in mine ear.

Divinely taught the craftsman is
Who waketh wonderings;
Whose web, the nursing chrysalis
Round Psyche`s folded wings,
To them transfers the loveliness
Of its inwoven things.

Yet joy when thou shalt cease to beat!—
For a greater heart beats on,
Whose better texture follows fleet
On thy last thread outrun,
With a seamless-woven garment, meet
To clothe a death-born son.
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