#Scots #XIXCentury
My TO-MORROW is but a flitting Fancy of the brain; God’s TO-MORROW an angel sitti… Ready for joy or pain. My TO-MORROW has no soul,
Days of old, Ye are not dead, though gone from… Ye are not cold, But like the summer-birds fled o’e… The sun brings back the swallows f…
Her mother, Elfie older grown, One evening, for adieu, Said, 'You’ll not mind being left… For God takes care of you!’ In child-way her heart’s eye did s…
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
I see thy house, but I am blown a… A wind-mocked kite, between the ea… All out of doors-alas! of thy door… And drenched in dews no summer sun… For every blast is passion of my o…
Oh, melancholy fragment of the nig… Drawing thy lazy web against the s… Thou shouldst have waited till the… With kindred glooms to build thy f… Sublime amid the ruins of the ligh…
There was a girl that lost things– Nor only from her hand; She lost, indeed-why, most things, As if they had been sand! She said, 'But I must use them,
Suggested by a drawing of Thomas… . This must be the very night! The moon knows it!-and the trees! They stand straight upright,
Little one, you must not fret That I take your clothes away; Better sleep you so will get, And at morning wake more gay– Saith the children’s mother.
Roses all the rosy way! Roses to the rosier west Where the roses of the day Cling to night’s unrosy breast! Thou who mak’st the roses, why
O Lord, I cannot but believe The birds do sing thy praises then… And they are lying seed-sown land… Their little bosoms breeding songs… If thou hadst finished me, O Lord…
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,
A child was born in sin and shame, Wronged by his very birth, Without a home, without a name, One over in the earth. No wifely triumph he inspired,
Oh how oft I wake and find I have been forgetting thee! I am never from thy mind: Thou it is that wakest me.
O Earth, Earth, Earth, I am dying for love of thee, For thou hast given me birth, And thy hands have tended me. I would fall asleep on thy breast