#ScottishWriters
A DIGGER he digs in the dark In the naked remains of a wood, For his friend that lies stiff and… On his head hard blood for a hood: The digging is painful and slow,
I AM not brave As others seem to be ; But, like a knave, I cringe in misery: I cannot face
You hide your grief, Mother, But in lonely twilight times You silently weep for another Who is dead. Alone, you mourn thus;
Weak and faltering, drifting by, I pray Thee, Lord, take Thou the… No captain of my soul am I, Weak and faltering, drifting by! I do not ask Thee, Whither? Why?
As one who was rebuked I stood In silence by the sea ; The stars were pale and faint—a br… Of angel eyes to me: The dim red flush of evening lay
Ah! when it rains all day And the sky is a mist That creeps by chillily Where sun once kissed, Like death pale shroud,
Think not of me as facing death, Tattered, labouring for breath ; Rather think of one who strays Dreaming dreams by perfumed ways. Soon I may die, ah! true, ’tis tr…
The round moon hangs like a yellow… That lie like lace against the sil… Oh, still the night! Oh, hushed t… Surely God is nigh.
It is not sweet to die for one’s c… I saw a dead man stinking in a tre… Where even flies would sicken with… Ah! is it sweet to die for one’s c… His face had rotted black as ebony…
Have you seen men come from the L… Tottering, doddering, as if bad wi… Had drugged their very souls; Their garments rent with holes And caked with mud
It lay on the hill, A sack on its face, Collarless, Stiff and still, Its two feet bare
JUNE! the joyous, sun-filled mon… When roses, emblems of a heaven, c… Strange melodies in garden and in… With blithesome birds that sing in… Of English lanes; and thousand ot…
Lo! there she comes from afar Her eyes tender as moonlight Or the evening star On a purple night In Autumn! See!
I PRAY to God at night, Tho’ I know not where He is Nor what He is; Nor whether I am right: I pray to God at night.
We met a strange old man to-day (As we strolled in the ruined plac… And he smiled to us as we came his… With gentle, wistful grace. ‘ Ah! Messieurs, it is very sad’