An excerpt from George MacDonald’s “The Diary of an Old Soul.”

Sometimes I wake, and, lo! I have forgot,      

And drifted out upon an ebbing sea!      

My soul that was at rest now resteth not,      

For I am with myself and not with thee;      

Truth seems a blind moon in a glaring morn,      

Where nothing is but sick-heart vanity:      

Oh, thou who knowest! save thy child forlorn.