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Poem by George MacDonald


Fate


Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I
Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven
Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven
Black passages which have not any sky:
The scourge is on me now, with all the cry
Of ancient life that hath with murder striven.
How many an anguish hath gone up to heaven,
How many a hand in prayer been lifted high
When the black fate came onward with the rush
Of whirlwind, avalanche, or fiery spume!
Even at my feet is cleft a shivering tomb
Beneath the waves; or else, with solemn hush
The graveyard opens, and I feel a crush
As if we were all huddled in one doom! 



George MacDonald


George MacDonald's other poems:
  1. The Gospel Women. 16. The Woman That Was a Sinner
  2. Concerning Jesus
  3. A Memorial of Africa
  4. The Gospel Women. 3. The Mother of Zebedee's Children
  5. The Burnt-Offering


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Ralph Emerson Fate ("DEEP in the man sits fast his fate")
  • Francis Bret Harte Fate ("The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare")

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