(From The Point of View, U.S.,… “THE LOVE I bear you, dearest, Would make the sweetest tale, We’d sail upon a sea of bliss, And I would lift the sail.
“The wind doth blow today, my love… And a few small drops of rain; I never had but one true-love, In cold grave she was lain. ”I’ll do as much for my true-love
At liberty I sit and see Them, that have erst laugh’d me to… Whipp’d with the whip that scourge… And now they ban that they were bo… I see them sit full soberly
The king sits in Dumferling toune… Drinking the blude-reid wine: “O whar will I get guid sailor, To sail this schip of mine?” Up and spak an eldern knicht,
“Oh where ha’e ye been, Lord Rand… And where ha’e ye been, my handsom… “I ha’e been to the wild wood: mot… For I’m wearied wi’ hunting, and… “An wha met ye there, Lord Randal…
The voice that beautifies the land… The voice above, The voice of thunder Within the dark cloud Again and again it sounds,
The following Epilogue to 'The Padlock’ was written by a very worthy Clergyman, soon after the first representation of that opera. The author of this little poem died in the Summer of 1...
Every year Grandma gets a tin of… She always says, 'Ah my favouri… Even before she opens the wrapping Grandpa always says, 'Well, I k… Its two pairs of socks. Just what…
THERE were twa sisters sat in a… Binnorie, O Binnorie! There cam a knight to be their woo… By the bonnie milldams o’ Binn… He courted the eldest with glove a…
God and the soldier All men adore In time of trouble, And no more; For when war is over
God, that art of myghtis most, Fader and Sone and Holy Gost, That bought man on Rode so dere, Shilde us from the fowle fende, That is about mannys sowle to shen…
Soldiers who wish to be a hero Are practically zero. But those who wish to be civilians… Jesus, they run into millions.
THERE lived a wife at Usher’s w… And a wealthy wife was she; She had three stout and stalwart s… And sent them o’er the sea. They hadna been a week from her,
THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte, —Every nighte and alle, Fire and fleet and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thy saule. When thou from hence away art past…
BALOW, my babe, lie still and sl… It grieves me sore to see thee wee… Wouldst thou be quiet I’se be gla… Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad: Balow my boy, thy mother’s joy,