#ScottishWriters
Content Primroses, With hearts at rest in your thick… Peeping as from his mother’s lap t… Who courts shy shelter from his ow… Hanging Harebell,
My Lily snatches not my gift; Glad is she to be fed, But to her mouth she will not lift The piece of broken bread, Till on my lips, unerring, swift,
Who know thee, love: thy life be s… That, ere the year be o’er, Each one who loves thee now so muc… Even God, may love thee more!
Behind my father’s cottage lies A gentle grassy height Up which I often ran-to gaze Back with a wondering sight, For then the chimneys I thought h…
The sky has turned its heart away, The earth its sorrow found; The daisies turn from childhood’s… And creep into the ground. The earth is black and cold and ha…
To Jordan when our Lord had gone, His Father’s pleasure willing, He took his baptism of St. John, His work and charge fulfilling; Therein he did appoint a bath
LORD, I do choose the higher tha… I would be handled by thy nursing… After thy will, not my infant alar… Hurt me thou wilt-but then more lo… If more can be and less, in love’s…
There cam a man to oor toon-en’, And a waesome carl was he, Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou’d, And gleyt o’ a blinterin ee. Muckle he spied, and muckle he spa…
His face, his words, her heart awo… Awoke her slumbering truth; She judged him well; her bonds she… And fled to him for ruth. With tears she washed his weary fe…
I woke at midnight, and my heart, My beating heart, said this to me: Thou seest the moon, how calm and… The world is fair by day and night… But what is that to thee?
I AM a little weary of my life– Not thy life, blessed Father! Or… Too slowly laves the coral shores… Or I am weary of weariness and st… Open my soul-gates to thy living f…
Here stands a giant stone from who… Comes down the sounding water: let… Till every sense of man and human… Is wrecked and quenched for ever,… Into the whirl of time, and withou…
Had I a great ship coming home, With big plunge o’er the sea, What bright things, hid from star… Lay in her heart for thee! The stormy billows heave and dip,
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,
In the ancient house of ages, See, they cannot rest! With a hope, which awe assuages, Tremble all the blest. For the son and heir eternal,