THE SMOKE. From “Paul Faber, Surgeon.” By George MacDonald.

Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar, But cannot get the wood to burn: It hardly flares ere it begins to falter, And to the dark return. Old sap, or night-fallen dew, has damped the fuel; In vain my breath would flame provoke; Yet see—at every poor attempt’s renewal, To thee ascends the smoke. ’Tis all I have—smoke, failure, foiled endeavor Coldness and doubt and palsied lack: Such as I have I send thee. Perfect Giver Send thou thy lightning back.