#ScottishWriters
Were I a skilful painter, My pencil, not my pen, Should try to teach thee hope and… And who would blame me then?- Fear of the tide of darkness
It’s all very well, Said the Bell, To be the big Organ below! But the folk come and go, Said the Bell,
One do I see and twelve; but seco… Methinks I know thee, thou belove… Not from thy nobler port, for ther… More quiet-featured: some there ar… Their message on their brows, whil…
Ave! Once more touch the strings That Memory may feed upon the str… And over-live again The days, When the heart gloried in the gold…
I have long enough been working do… Working spade and pick, boring-chi… I long for wider spaces, airy, cle… Successless labour never the love… More profit surely lies in a holy,…
Hark, hark, a voice amid the quiet… It is thy Duty waiting thee witho… Rise from thy knees in hope, the h… A hand doth pull thee-it is Provi… Open thy door straightway, and get…
Ane by ane they gang awa; The getherer gethers grit and sma’… Ane by ane maks ane and a’! Aye whan ane sets doon the cup Ane ahint maun tak it up:
I say! hey! cousin there! I mustn… Yet you have a tail behind, and I… You pull, and I pull, though we d… You have less hardship, and I hav… II.
Make not of thy heart a casket, Opening seldom, quick to close; But of bread a wide-mouthed basket… Or a cup that overflows.
Oh! is it Death that comes To have a foretaste of the whole? To-night the planets and the stars Will glimmer through my window-bar… But will not shine upon my soul!
The wind it blew, and the ship it… And it was ‘Hey for hame!’ But up an’ cried the skipper til h… ‘Haud her oot ower the saut sea fa… Syne up an’ spak the angry king:
Hears’t thou the dash of water, lo… With its perpetual tidings upward… Struggling against the wind? Oh,… For not in vain from its portentou… Thy heart, wild stream, hath yearn…
Were thou and I the white pinions On some eager, heaven-born dove, Swift would we mount to the old do… To our rest of old, my love! Were thou and I trembling strands
I dreamed of a song-I heard it su… In the ear of my soul its strange… What were its words I could not t… Only the voice I heard right well… For its tones unearthly my spirit…
If I might guess, then guess I wo… That, mid the gathered folk, This gentle Dorcas one day stood, And heard when Jesus spoke. She saw the woven seamless coat–