Explore "To my Aging Friends" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It is no winter night comes down / Upon our hearts, dear friends of old; / But a May evening, softly brown, / Whose wind is rather cold.
We are not, like yon sad-eyed West, / Phantoms that brood o'er Time's dust-hoard, / We are like yon Moon -- in mourning drest, / But gazing on her lord.
Come nearer to the hearth, sweet friends, / Draw nigher, closer, hand and chair; / Ours is a love that never ends, / For God is dearest there!
We will not talk about the past, / We will not ponder ancient pain; / Those are but deep foundations cast / For peaks of soaring gain!
We, waiting Dead, will warm our bones / At our poor smouldering earthly fire; / And talk of wide-eyed living ones / Who have what we desire.
O Living, ye know what is death -- / We, by and by, shall know it too! / Humble, with bated, hoping breath, / We are coming fast to you!