#ScottishWriters
Better to smell the violet Than sip the glowing wine; Better to hearken to a brook Than watch a diamond shine. Better to have a loving friend
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…
Yes, Master, when thou comest tho… A little faith on earth, if I am… Thou know’st how oft I turn to th… How sad I wait until thy face app… Hast thou not ploughed my thorny g…
She comes! again she comes, the br… Under a ragged cloud I found her… Clasping her own dark orb like hop… That ragged cloud hath waited her… And he hath found and he will hide…
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…
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,…
In that high country whither thou… Right noble friend, thou walkest w… The gathered great of many a hundr… Few are left like thee-few, I say… Else were thy England soon a Baby…
Methinks I see thee, lying straig… Silent and darkling, in thy earthy… The mighty strength in which I tr… The long arms lying careless of ki… On thy tall form I see the night-…
Down a warm alley, early in the ye… Among the woods, with all the suns… And all the winds outside it, I b… To think that something gracious w… If anything of grace inhabit here,
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…
The veil hath lifted and hath fall… Who next it stood before us, first… We see not; but between the cherub… The light burns clearer: come-a th… Lord, for thy prophet’s calm comma…
Victorious through failure! faithf… Who for twelve angel legions would… From thine own country of eternal… To shield thee from the lanterned… Making thy one rash servant sheath…
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…
O Father, I am in the dark, My soul is heavy-bowed: I send my prayer up like a lark, Up through my vapoury shroud, To find thee,
Brother artist, help me; come! Artists are a maimed band: I have words but not a hand; Thou hast hands though thou art du… Had I thine, when words did fail–