The morning drum-call on my eager… Thrills unforgotten yet; the morni… Lies yet undried along my field of… But now I pause at whiles in what… And count the bell, and tremble le…

The Lord Himsel’ in former days Waled out the proper tunes for pra… An’ named the proper kind o’ claes For folk to preach in: Preceese and in the chief o’ ways

NOW in the sky And on the hearth of Now in a drawer the direful cane, That sceptre of the . . . reign, And the long hawser, that on the b…

THE cock’s clear voice into the c… Where westward far I roam, Mounts with a thrill of hope, Falls with a sigh of home. A rural sentry, he from farm and f…

The Hayloft Through all the pleasant meadow—si… The grass grew shoulder—high, Till the shining scythes went far… And cut it down to dry.

IN the green and gallant Spring, Love and the lyre I thought to si… And kisses sweet to give and take By the flowery hawthorn brake. Now is russet Autumn here,

To see the infinite pity of this p… The mangled limb, the devastated f… The innocent sufferer smiling at t… A fool were tempted to deny his G… He sees, he shrinks. But if he g…

OUR Johnie’s deid. The mair’s th… He’s deid, an’ deid o’ Aqua—vitae… O Embro’, you’re a shrunken city, Noo Johnie’s deid! Tak hands, an’ sing a burial ditty

OVER the land is April, Over my heart a rose; Over the high, brown mountain The sound of singing goes. Say, love, do you hear me,

“Chief of our aunts”—not only I, But all your dozen of nurselings c… “What did the other children do? And what were childhood, wanting y…

The Silver Ship, my King - that… In the bright islands whence your… The Silver Ship, at rest from win… Below your palace in your harbour… And the seafarers, sitting safe on…

It is not yours, O mother, to com… Not, mother, yours to weep, Though nevermore your son again Shall to your bosom creep, Though nevermore again you watch y…