Explore "That Holy Thing" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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!