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				Title:     My Heart [I heard, in darkness, on my bed] 
			    
Author: George MacDonald [
More Titles by MacDonald]		                
			    
I heard, in darkness, on my bed,
 The beating of my heart
To servant feet and regnant head
 A common life impart,
By the liquid cords, in every thread
 Unbroken as they start.
Night, with its power to silence day,
 Filled up my lonely room;
All motion quenching, save what lay
 Beyond its passing doom,
Where in his shed the 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 and bound,
 'Twas a shuttle, flying, flying;
Weaving ever life's garment round,
 Till the weft go out with sighing.
I said, O mystic thing, thou goest
 On working in the dark;
In space's shoreless sea thou rowest,
 Concealed within thy bark;
All wondrous things thou, wonder, showest,
 Yet dost not any mark.
For all the world is woven by thee,
 Besides this fleshly dress;
With earth and sky thou clothest me,
 Form, distance, loftiness;
A globe of glory spouting free
 Around the visionless.
For when thy busy efforts fail,
 And thy shuttle moveless lies,
They will fall from me, like a veil
 From before a lady's eyes;
As a night-perused, just-finished tale
 In the new daylight dies.
But not alone dost thou unroll
 The mountains, fields, and seas,
A mighty, wonder-painted scroll,
 Like the Patmos mysteries;
Thou mediator 'twixt my soul
 And higher things than these.
In holy ephod clothing me
 Thou makest me a seer;
In all the lovely things I see,
 The inner truths appear;
And the deaf spirit without thee
 No spirit-word could hear.
Yet though so high thy mission is,
 And thought to spirit brings,
Thy web is but the chrysalis,
 Where lie the future wings,
Now growing into perfectness
 By thy inwoven things.
Then thou, God's pulse, wilt cease to beat;
 But His heart will still beat on,
Weaving another garment meet,
 If needful for his son;
And sights more glorious, to complete
 The web thou hast begun.
[The end]
George MacDonald's poem: My Heart
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