Read "Shall the Dead Praise Thee?" by George MacDonald online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
I cannot praise thee. By his instrument / The master sits, and moves nor foot nor hand; / For see the organ-pipes this, that way bent, / Leaning, o'erthrown, like wheat-stalks tempest-fanned!
I well could praise thee for a flower, a dove, / But not for life that is not life in me; / Not for a being that is less than love -- / A barren shoal half lifted from a sea!