#ScottishWriters
I know not what among the grass th… Thy nature, nor thy substance, fai… Nor what to other eyes thou hast o… To send thine image through them t… But when I push the frosty leaves…
Oh that men would praise the Lord For his goodness unto men! Forth he sends his saving word, —Oh that men would praise the Lor… And from shades of death abhorred
Better to smell the violet Than sip the glowing wine; Better to hearken to a brook Than watch a diamond shine. Better to have a loving friend
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…
For years eighteen she, patient so… Her eyes had graveward sent; Her earthly life was lapt in dole, She was so bowed and bent. What words! To her? Who can be ne…
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
If I did seem to you no more Than to myself I seem, Not thus you would fling wide the… And on the beggar beam! You would not don your radiant bes…
Are the leaves falling round about The churchyard on the hill? Is the glow of autumn going out? Is that the winter chill? And yet through winter’s noise, no…
Had I a great ship coming home, With big plunge o’er the sea, What bright things, hid from star… Lay in her heart for thee! The stormy billows heave and dip,
Still flowed the music, flowed the… The youth in silence went; Through naked streets, in cold moo… His homeward way he bent, Where, on the city’s seaward line,
Strait is the path? He means we m… Yes; but the strait path leads int…
To whom the heavy burden clings, It yet may serve him like a staff; One day the cross will break in wi… The sinner laugh a holy laugh. The dwarfed Zacchaeus climbed a t…
Christmas-Days are still in store… Will they change-steal faded hithe… Or come fresh as heretofore, Summering all our winter weather? Surely they will keep their bloom
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,
O Lord, at Joseph’s humble bench Thy hands did handle saw and plane… Thy hammer nails did drive and cle… Avoiding knot and humouring grain. That thou didst seem, thou wast in…
