A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul

Name: A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul
Author: George MacDonald

by George MacDonald

Pages: about 78
Category: Literature & Fiction
Language: English
Reading time: 86 min at 250 wpm

Start readingThe whole book, as cards or one word at a time. 48 min at 450 wpm in Read mode.

From the opening

Sweet friends, receive my offering. You will find Against each worded page a white page set:-- This is the mirror of each friendly mind Reflecting that. In this book we are met. Make it, dear hearts, of worth to you indeed:-- Let your white page be ground, my print be seed, Growing to golden ears, that faith and hope shall feed.
LORD, what I once had done with youthful might, Had I been from the first true to the truth, Grant me, now old, to do--with better sight, And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth; So wilt thou, in thy gentleness and ruth, Lead back thy old soul, by the path of pain, Round to his best--young eyes and heart and brain.
A dim aurora rises in my east, Beyond the line of jagged questions hoar, As if the head of our intombed High Priest Began to glow behind the unopened door: Sure the gold wings will soon rise from the gray!-- They rise not. Up I rise, press on the more, To meet the slow coming of the Master's day.
Sometimes I wake, and, lo! I have forgot, And drifted out upon an ebbing sea! My soul that was at rest now resteth not, For I am with myself and not with thee; Truth seems a blind moon in a glaring morn, Where nothing is but sick-heart vanity: Oh, thou who knowest! save thy child forlorn.
Death, like high faith, levelling, lifteth all. When I awake, my daughter and my son, Grown sister and brother, in my arms shall fall, Tenfold my girl and boy. Sure every one Of all the brood to the old wings will run. Whole-hearted is my worship of the man From whom my earthly history began.
Thy fishes breathe but where thy waters roll; Thy birds fly but within thy airy sea; My soul breathes only in thy infinite soul; I breathe, I think, I love, I live but thee.

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A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul

From the opening

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