Explore "Confidence" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Lie down upon the ground, thou hopeless one!
Press thy face in the grass, and do not speak.
Dost feel the green globe whirl? Seven times a week / Climbeth she out of darkness to the sun, / Which is her God; seven times she doth not shun / Awful eclipse, laying her patient cheek / Upon a pillow ghost-beset with shriek / Of voices utterless, which rave and run / Through all the star-penumbra, craving light / And tidings of the dawn from East and West.
Calmly she sleepeth, and her sleep is blest / With heavenly visions, and the joy of Night / Treading aloft with moons; nor hath she fright / Though cloudy tempests beat upon her breast.