#ScottishWriters
Though in my heart no Christmas g… Though my song-bird be dumb, Jesus, it is enough for me That thou art come. What though the loved be scattered…
Now have I grown a sharpness and… Unto my future nights, and I will… Sheer through the ebon gates that… On every set of day; or as a sledg… Drawn over snowy plains; where not…
Win’ that blaws the simmer plaid Ower the hie hill’s shoothers laid… Green wi’ gerse, an’ reid wi’ heat… Welcome wi’ yer sowl-like weather! Mony a win’ there has been sent
Thrice-happy he whose heart, each… When old-worn day hath vanished o’… And he hath laid him down in chamb… Straightway begins to tremble and… And loose faint flashes toward the…
O Thou that walkest with nigh hop… Past the one harbour, built for th… Doth no stray odour from its table… No truant beam from fire or candle… At his wide door the host doth sta…
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…
Hears’t thou the dash of water, lo… With its perpetual tidings upward… Struggling against the wind? Oh,… For not in vain from its portentou… Thy heart, wild stream, hath yearn…
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…
Methought I floated sightless, no… That I had ears until I heard the… As of a mighty man in agony: ‘How long, Lord, shall I lie thus… The arrows of thy lightning throug…
I walked all night: the darkness d… Around me fell a mist, a weary rai… Enduring long. At length the dawn… A temple’s front, high-lifted from… Closed were the lofty doors that l…
’Tis time to sleep, my little boy: Why gaze thy bright eyes so? At night our children, for new joy Home to thy father go, But thou art wakeful! Sleep, my c…
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur t… Wi’ a clip o’ the sunshine atween… Whaur the birks are a’ straikit wi… And the brume hings its lamps by d… Whaur the burnie comes trottin owe…
Is there a secret Joy, that may n… For every flower that ends its lit… For every child that groweth up to… For every captive bird a cage doth… For every aching eye that went to…
I like ye weel upo Sundays, Nanni… I’ yer goon and yer ribbons and a’… But I like ye better on Mondays,… Whan ye’re no sae buskit and braw. For whan we’re sittin sae douce,…
She sitteth at the Master’s feet In motionless employ; Her ears, her heart, her soul comp… Drinks in the tide of joy. Ah! who but she the glory knows