Religion
That Holy Thing
From The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2
Religion
They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes, and lift them high:
Thou cam'st a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.
O son of man, to right my lot
Nought but thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road thy wheels are not,
Nor on the sea thy sail!
My fancied ways why shouldst thou heed?
Thou com'st down thine own secret stair:
Com'st down to answer all my need,
Yea, every bygone prayer!
Cite this poem
MLA
MacDonald, George. “That Holy Thing.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/macdonald/253/.
Chicago
MacDonald, George. “That Holy Thing.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/macdonald/253/.
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