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…

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…

Along the tops of all the yellow t… The golden-yellow trees, the sunsh… And where the leaves are gone, lon… Lone depths of thicket with their… And through the woods, all waste o…

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

AND do not fear to hope. Can poe… More than the Father’s heart rich… Each time we smell the autumn’s dy… We know the primrose time will com… Not more we hope, nor less would s…

I was very cold In the summer weather; The sun shone all his gold, But I was very cold– Alas, we were grown old,

I follow, tottering, in the funera… That bears my body to the welcomin… As those I mourn not, that entomb… But smile as those that lay aside… To me it is a thing of poor disdai…

I have a puppet-jointed child, She’s but three half-years old; Through lawless hair her eyes glea… With looks both shy and bold. Like little imps, her tiny hands

‘O lat me in, my bonny lass! It’s a lang road ower the hill, And the flauchterin snaw begud to… On the brig ayont the mill!’ ‘Here’s nae change-hoose, John Mu…

FROM thine, as then, the healing… Into our hearts-that is the Fathe… From heart to heart it sinks, it s… From these that know thee still in… Here is my heart-from thine, Lord…

The times are changed, and gone th… When the high heavenly land, Though unbeheld, quite near them l… And men could understand. The dead yet find it, who, when he…

December 28, 1879 A dim, vague shrinking haunts my s… My spirit bodeth ill– As some far-off restraining bank Had burst, and waters, many a rank…

Now have I grown a sharpness and… Unto my future nights, and I will… Sheer through the ebon gates that… On every set of day; or as a sledg… Drawn over snowy plains; where not…

Why came in dreams the low-born ma… Between thee and thy rest? In vain thy whispered message ran, Though justice was its quest! Did some young ignorant angel dare…