Explore "This World" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Thy world is made to fit thine own, / A nursery for thy children small, / The playground-footstool of thy throne, / Thy solemn school-room, Father of all! / When day is done, in twilight's gloom, / We pass into thy presence-room.
Because from selfishness and wrath, / Our cold and hot extremes of ill, / We grope and stagger on the path -- / Thou tell'st us from thy holy hill, / With icy storms and sunshine rude, / That we are all unripe in good.