I missed him when the sun began to bend;
I found him not when I had lost his rim;
With many tears I went in search of him,
Climbing high mountains which did still ascend,
And gave me echoes when I called my friend;
Through cities vast and charnel-houses grim,
And high cathedrals where the light was dim,
Through books and arts and works without an end,
But found him not--the friend whom I had lost.
And yet I found him--as I found the lark,
A sound in fields I heard but could not mark;
I found him nearest when I missed him most;
I found him in my heart, a life in frost,
A light I knew not till my soul was dark.
--George MacDonald
Thank you for sharing such lovely thoughts each day. You always start my day with a gift in my heart!
ReplyDeleteYou are very welcome, dear Anne. It's always a joy to hear from you. May God bless you and Our Lady protect you.
ReplyDelete"a light I knew not till my soul was dark"
ReplyDeleteBreathtaking.
George MacDonald wrote some beautiful lines. I'm glad that you liked this, Oddyoddyo13. Thank you so much for writing.
ReplyDelete