#ScottishWriters
The stars cleave the sky. Yet for us they rest, And their race-course high Is a shining nest! The hours hurry on.
LORD, what I once had done with… Had I been from the first true to… Grant me, now old, to do-with bett… And humbler heart, if not the brai… So wilt thou, in thy gentleness an…
What dost thou here, O soul, Beyond thy own control, Under the strange wild sky? 0 stars, reach down your hands, And clasp me in your silver bands,
Where went the feet that hitherto… Here yawns no gulf to quench the f… With lengthening pauses broke, the… The grass floats in; the gazer sta… Tremble not, maiden, though the fo…
O Peter, wherefore didst thou dou… Indeed the spray flew fast about, But he was there whose walking foo… Could make the wandering hills tak… And he had said, ‘Come down to me…
Trust my father, saith the eldest-… I did trust him ere the earth bega… Not to know him is to be forlorn; Not to love him is-not to be man. He that knows him loves him altoge…
Dead art thou? No more dead than… Over whose couch the saving God d… ‘She is not dead but sleepeth,’ sa… And took her by the hand! Thee knowledge never from Life’s…
The times are changed, and gone th… When the high heavenly land, Though unbeheld, quite near them l… And men could understand. The dead yet find it, who, when he…
Speak, Prophet of the Lord! We m… To find thee with us in thine anci… Haggard and pale from some bleak w… Empty of all save God and thy lou… Nor with like rugged message quick…
Above my head the great pine-branc… Backwards and forwards each to the… Beckoning the tempest-cloud which… Like a slow-laboured thought, heav… Hark to the patter of the coming s…
Within each living man there doth… In some unrifled chamber of the he… A hidden treasure: wayward as thou… I love thee, man, and bind thee to… By that sweet act I purify my pri…
Some men there are who cannot spar… A single tear until they feel The last cold pressure, and the he… Is stamped upon the outmost layer. And, waking, some will sigh to thi…
Sweep up the flure, Janet; Put on anither peat. It’s a lown and a starry nicht, J… And nowther cauld nor weet. It’s the nicht atween the Sancts…
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…
I cannot write old verses here, Dead things a thousand years away, When all the life of the young yea… Is in the summer day. The roses make the world so sweet,