Yes, Master, when thou comest tho… A little faith on earth, if I am… Thou know’st how oft I turn to th… How sad I wait until thy face app… Hast thou not ploughed my thorny g…

The homely words how often read! How seldom fully known! ‘Which father of you, asked for br… Would give his son a stone?’ How oft has bitter tear been shed,

All sights and sounds of day and y… All groups and forms, each leaf an… Are thine, O God, nor will I fea… To talk to thee of them .

The bairns i’ their beds, worn oot… Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid win… The auld fowk lie still wi’ their… An’ the mirk pang-fou o’ the thing… Whan oot o’ ilk corner the bairnie…

Dead art thou? No more dead than… Over whose couch the saving God d… ‘She is not dead but sleepeth,’ sa… And took her by the hand! Thee knowledge never from Life’s…

Whence do ye come, ye creatures?… Is perfect as an angel! wings and… Stupendous in their beauty-gorgeou… In feathery fields of purple and o… Would God I saw a moment as ye do…

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;

She comes! again she comes, the br… Under a ragged cloud I found her… Clasping her own dark orb like hop… That ragged cloud hath waited her… And he hath found and he will hide…

Love, the baby, Crept abroad to pluck a flower: One said, Yes, sir; one said, May… One said, Wait the hour. Love, the boy,

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…

Summer is come again. The sun is… And the soft wind is breathing. A… Is sparkling in thine eyes, and in… My soul is shining. Come; our day… Shall be to revel in unlikely thin…

Power that is not of God, however… Is but the downward rushing and th… Of a swift meteor that hath lost i… In the one impulse which doth anim… The parent mass: emblem to me of f…

Enough he labours for his hire; Yea, nought can pay his pain; But powers that wear and waste and… Need help to toil again. They give him freely all they can,

‘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…

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.