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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"The Diary of an Old soul"

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Then shall this body's death be very tolerable.
27.
As to our mothers came help in our birth--
Not lost in lifing us, but saved and blest--
Self bearing self, although right sorely prest,
Shall nothing lose, but die and be at rest
In life eternal, beyond all care and dearth.
God-born then truly, a man does no more ill,
Perfectly loves, and has whate'er he will.
28.
As our dear animals do suffer less
Because their pain spreads neither right nor left,
Lost in oblivion and foresightlessness--
Our suffering sore by faith shall be bereft
Of all dismay, and every weak excess.
His presence shall be better in our pain,
Than even self-absence to the weaker brain.
29.
"Father, let this cup pass." He prayed--was heard.
What cup was it that passed away from him?
Sure not the death-cup, now filled to the brim!
There was no quailing in the awful word;
He still was king of kings, of lords the lord:--
He feared lest, in the suffering waste and grim,
His faith might grow too faint and sickly dim.
30.
Thy mind, my master, I will dare explore;
What we are told, that we are meant to know.
Into thy soul I search yet more and more,
Led by the lamp of my desire and woe.
If thee, my Lord, I may not understand,
I am a wanderer in a houseless land,
A weeping thirst by hot winds ever fanned.


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