George MacDonald

A reading from George MacDonald's Diary of an Old Soul:

I am a fool when I would stop and think,
And lest I lose my thoughts, from duty shrink.
It is but avarice in another shape.
‘Tis as the vine-branch were to hoard the grape,
Nor trust the living root beneath the sod.
What trouble is that child to thee, my God,
Who sips thy gracious cup, and will not drink!

George MacDonald (184-1905) was a Scottish novelist, poet and theologian. I adore his fairy tales, particularly: The Wise Woman, The Golden Key, The Princess and the Goblin, The Princess and Curdie, and most especially, Phantastes, a grown-up fantasy that C.S. Lewis declared “baptized his imagination” before he became a Christian. Most writers are excellent in their depiction of vice—of our human follies, deceits and illogicality. MacDonald is the only writer I have read who captures goodness and beauty and innocence without making it seem naïve and childish.

I picked up a copy of Diary of an Old Soul, which has a little devotional poem for each day of the year. I don’t always understand them and I don’t read them regularly, but every once in a while, I run across a little gem like this.