Were I a Skilful Painter by George Macdonald скачать в хорошем качестве

Were I a Skilful Painter by George Macdonald

Were I a skilful painter, My pencil, not my pen, Should try to teach thee hope and fear, And who would blame me then?— Fear of the tide of darkness That floweth fast behind, And hope to make thee journey on In the journey of the mind. Were I a skilful painter, What should I paint for thee?— A tiny spring-bud peeping out From a withered wintry tree; The warm blue sky of summer O'er jagged ice and snow, And water hurrying gladsome out From a cavern down below; The dim light of a beacon Upon a stormy sea, Where a lonely ship to windward beats For life and liberty; A watery sun-ray gleaming Athwart a sullen cloud And falling on some grassy flower The rain had earthward bowed; Morn peeping o'er a mountain, In ambush for the dark, And a traveller in the vale below Rejoicing like a lark; A taper nearly vanished Amid the dawning gray, And a maiden lifting up her head, And lo, the coming day! I am no skilful painter; Let who will blame me then That I would teach thee hope and fear With my plain-talking pen!— Fear of the tide of darkness That floweth fast behind, And hope to make thee journey on In the journey of the mind. by George MacDonald. Music by I am the Chorus