Diary of an Old Soul, June 25 - July 1

25. Oh, make my anger pure--let no worst wrong
Rouse in me the old niggard selfishness.
Give me thine indignation--which is love
Turned on the evil that would part love's throng;
Thy anger scathes because it needs must bless,
Gathering into union calm and strong
All things on earth, and under, and above.

26. Make my forgiveness downright--such as I
Should perish if I did not have from thee;
I let the wrong go, withered up and dry,
Cursed with divine forgetfulness in me.
'Tis but self-pity, pleasant, mean, and sly,
Low whispering bids the paltry memory live:--
What am I brother for, but to forgive!

27. "Thou art my father's child--come to my heart:"
Thus must I say, or Thou must say, "Depart;"
Thus I would say--I would be as thou art;
Thus I must say, or still I work athwart
The absolute necessity and law
That dwells in me, and will me asunder draw,
If in obedience I leave any flaw.

28. Lord, I forgive--and step in unto thee.
If I have enemies, Christ deal with them:
He hath forgiven me and Jerusalem.
Lord, set me from self-inspiration free,
And let me live and think from thee, not me--
Rather, from deepest me then think and feel,
At centre of thought's swift-revolving wheel.

29. I sit o'ercanopied with Beauty's tent,
Through which flies many a golden-winged dove,
Well watched of Fancy's tender eyes up bent;
A hundred Powers wait on me, ministering;
A thousand treasures Art and Knowledge bring;
Will, Conscience, Reason tower the rest above;
But in the midst, alone, I gladness am and love.

30. 'Tis but a vision, Lord; I do not mean
That thus I am, or have one moment been--
'Tis but a picture hung upon my wall,
To measure dull contentment therewithal,
And know behind the human how I fall;--
A vision true, of what one day shall be,
When thou hast had thy very will with me.

July. 1. Alas, my tent! see through it a whirlwind sweep!
Moaning, poor Fancy's doves are swept away.
I sit alone, a sorrow half asleep,
My consciousness the blackness all astir.
No pilgrim I, a homeless wanderer--
For how canst Thou be in the darkness deep,
Who dwellest only in the living day?

The above is excerpted from George MacDonald's A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul (Public Domain, 1880). For further information see this post. These are the entries for/from June 25 - July 1.