#ScottishWriters
There was John Gordon an’ Archib… An’ a yerl’s twin sons war they; Quhan they war are an’ twenty year… They fell oot on their ae birthday… ‘Turn ye, John Gordon, nae brithe…
‘Death, whaur do ye bide, auld De… ‘I bide in ilka breath,’ Quo’ Death; ‘No i’ the pyramids, No whaur the wormie rids
Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leu… Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen; Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute, Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen.
Where the bud has never blown Who for scent is debtor? Where the spirit rests unknown Fatal is the letter. In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored,
Where did you come from, baby dear… Out of the everywhere into here. Where did you get those eyes so bl… Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them spark…
‘WHO is this little one lying,’ Said Time, ‘at my garden-gate, Moaning and sobbing and crying, Out in the cold so late?’ ‘They lurked until we came near,
They say that lonely sorrows do no… More gently, I think, sorrows tog… A new one joins the funeral glidin… With less of jar than when it brea… Grief swages grief, and joy doth j…
The sun is sinking in the west, Long grow the shadows dim; Have patience, sister, to be blest… Wait patiently for Him. Thou knowest love, much love hast…
Little White Lily Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little White Lily
I have a fellowship with every sha… Of changing nature: with the tempe… My soul goes forth to claim her ea… Of living princedom; and her wings… Amidst the wildest uproar undismay…
I know what beauty is, for thou Hast set the world within my heart… Of me thou madest it a part; I never loved it more than now. I know the Sabbath afternoons;
Grief held me silent in my seat; I neither moved nor smiled: Joy held her silent at my feet, My shining lily-child. She raised her face and looked in…
The Deil’s forhooit his ain, his… The Deil’s forhooit his ain! His bairns are greitin in ilka neu… For the Deil’s forhooit his ain. The Deil he tuik his stick and hi…
She knelt, she bore a bold request… Though shy to speak it out: Ambition, even in mother’s breast, Before him stood in doubt. ‘What is it?’ ‘Grant thy promise…
Lord, I’m an auld man, An’ I’m deein! An’ do what I can I canna help bein Some feart at the thoucht!