George MacDonald's Poetry

I'm enjoying George MacDonald's Diary of an Old Soul:

Here are some of my favorites:

Be thou the well by which I lie and rest:
Be thou my tree of life, my garden ground;
Be thou my home, my fire, my chamber blest,
My book of wisdom, loved of all the best;
Oh be my friend, each day still newer found,
As the eternal days and nights go round!
Nay, nay – thou art my God, in whom all loves are bound!

Come to me, Lord: I will not speculate how,
Nor think at which door I would have thee appear,
Nor put off calling till my floors be swept,
But cry, “Come, Lord, come any way, come now.”
Doors, windows, I throw wide; my head I bow,
And sit like some one who so long has slept
That he knows nothing till his life draw near.

Were there but some deep, holy spell, whereby
Always I should remember thee – some mode
Of feeling the pure heat-throb momently
Of the spirit-fire still uttering this I!
Lord, see thou to it, take thou remembrance’ load:
Only when I bethink me can I cry;
Remember thou, and prick me with love’s goad.