A fantasy novel by George MacDonald

Home Main Menu Order Support About Search

Share page  

Previous Contents Next

Chained is the Spring. The night-wind bold
Blows over the hard earth; Time is not more confused and cold,
Nor keeps more wintry mirth.
Yet blow, and roll the world about;
Blow, Time—blow, winter's Wind!
Through chinks of Time, heaven peepeth out,
And Spring the frost behind.
G. E. M.
They who believe in the influences of the stars over the fates of men, are, in feeling at least, nearer the truth than they who regard the heavenly bodies as related to them merely by a common obedience to an external law. All that man sees has to do with man. Worlds cannot be without an intermundane relation­ship. The community of the centre of all creation suggests an interradiating connexion and dependence of the parts. Else a grander idea is conceivable than that which is already imbodied. The blank, which is only a forgotten life, lying behind the conscious­ness, and the misty splendour, which is an undeve­loped life, lying before it, may be full of mysterious revelations of other connexions with the worlds around us, than those 'of science and poetry. No
Previous Contents Next