Come unto me, the Master says:- But how? I am not good; No thankful song my heart will rai… Nor even wish it could. I am not sorry for the past,

I do remember how, when very young… I saw the great sea first, and hea… As I drew nearer, caught within t… Of its vast size and its mysteriou… How the floor trembled, and the da…

To God and man be simply true; Do as thou hast been wont to do; Bring out thy treasures, old and n… - Mean all the same when said to you…

I came upon a fountain on my way When it was hot, and sat me down t… Its sparkling stream, when all aro… I spied full many vessels made of… Whereon were written, not without…

A power is on me, and my soul must… To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom… With those white-headed children.… To commune with thy setting, and t… My doubts on thy grey hair; for I…

What gars ye sing sae, birdie, As gien ye war lord o’ the lift? On breid ye’re an unco sma’ lairdi… But in hicht ye’ve a kingly gift! A’ ye hae to coont yersel rich in

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…

Lord, I have laid my heart upon t… But cannot get the wood to burn; It hardly flares ere it begins to… And to the dark return. Old sap, or night-fallen dew, make…

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,

This is the sweetness of an April… The softness of the spring is on t… Of the old year. She has no natur… But something comes to her from fa… Out of the Past, and on her old d…

The Year Of The Trouble In Lanc… The skies are pale, the trees are… The earth is dull and old; The frost is glittering as if The very sun were cold.

Forth to his study the sculptor go… In a mood of lofty mirth: ‘Now shall the tongues of my carpi… Confess what my art is worth! In my brain last night the vision…

Winter froze both brook and well; Fast and fast the snowflakes fell; Children gathered round the hearth Made a summer of their mirth; When a boy, so lately come

Ah, holy midnight of the soul, When stars alone are high; When winds are resting at their go… And sea-waves only sigh! Ambition faints from out the will;

Such guests as you, sir, were not… When I my homely dish with care d… ’Twas certain humble souls I woul… Who do not turn from wholesome mil… You came, slow-trotting on the nar…