#Scots #XIXCentury
When thou turn’st away from ill, Christ is this side of thy hill. When thou turnest toward good, Christ is walking in thy wood. When thy heart says, ‘Father, par…
O wild and dark! a night hath foun… Wherein I mingle with that elemen… Sent madly loose through the wide… In yon tormented branches! I will… A while unto the storm, and thence…
Come to me, come to me, O my God; Come to me everywhere! Let the trees mean thee, and the g… And the water and the air! For thou art so far that I often…
A little bird sat on the edge of h… Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as… Day-long she had worked almost wit… And had filled every one of their… Her own she had filled just over-f…
Out of the gulf into the glory, Father, my soul cries out to be li… Dark is the woof of my dismal stor… Thorough thy sun—warp stormily dri… Out of the gulf into the glory,
There is a bellowing in me, as of… Unfleshed and visionless, mangling… With horrible convulse, as if it b… The cruel weight of worlds, but co… With the thick-dropping clods, and…
My TO-MORROW is but a flitting Fancy of the brain; God’s TO-MORROW an angel sitti… Ready for joy or pain. My TO-MORROW has no soul,
A child was born in sin and shame, Wronged by his very birth, Without a home, without a name, One over in the earth. No wifely triumph he inspired,
Thy world is made to fit thine own… A nursery for thy children small, The playground-footstool of thy th… Thy solemn school-room, Father of… When day is done, in twilight’s gl…
Beautiful mother is busy all day, So busy she neither can sing nor s… But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseles… Through her eyes, and her ears, an… Motion, sight, and sound, and scen…
O Earth, Earth, Earth, I am dying for love of thee, For thou hast given me birth, And thy hands have tended me. I would fall asleep on thy breast
A gentle wind, of western birth On some far summer sea, Wakes daisies in the wintry earth, Wakes hopes in wintry me. The sun is low; the paths are wet,
Waking in the night to pray, Sleeping when the answer comes, Foolish are we even at play– Tearfully we beat our drums! Cast the good dry bread away,
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!
Still flowed the music, flowed the… The youth in silence went; Through naked streets, in cold moo… His homeward way he bent, Where, on the city’s seaward line,