#Scots
Of the poor bird that cannot fly Kindly you think and mournfully; For prisoners and for exiles all You let the tears of pity fall; And very true the grief should be
The witch lady walked along the st… Heard a roaring of the sea, On the edge of a pool saw a dead m… Good thing for a witch lady! Lightly she stepped across the roc…
Lord, hear my discontent: all blan… A mirror polished by thy hand; Thy sun’s beams flash and flame fr… I cannot help it: here I stand, t… To one of them I cannot say,
A broken tale of endless things, Take, lady: thou art not of those Who in what vale a fountain spring… Would have its journey close. Countless beginnings, fair first p…
Beautiful stories wed with lovely… Like words and music:-what shall b… Of love and nobleness that might a… To express in action what this swe… The sweetness of a day of airs and…
Victorious through failure! faithf… Who for twelve angel legions would… From thine own country of eternal… To shield thee from the lanterned… Making thy one rash servant sheath…
I lay and dreamed. The master cam… In his old woven dress; I stood in joy, and yet in shame, Oppressed with earthliness. He stretched his arms, and gently…
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,
When, in the mid-sea of the night, I waken at thy call, O Lord, The first that troop my bark aboar… Are darksome imps that hate the li… Whose tongues are arrows, eyes a b…
Satan, avaunt! Nay, take thine hour, Thou canst not daunt, Thou hast no power; Be welcome to thy nest,
O Mother Earth, I have a fear Which I would tell to thee– Softly and gently in thine ear When the moon and we are three. Thy grass and flowers are beautifu…
O wind of God, that blowest in th… Blow, blow and wake the gentle spr… Blow, swifter blow, a strong warm… Till all the flowers with eyes com… Blow till the fruit hangs red on e…
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.
In the air why such a ringing? On the earth why such a droning? In the air the lark is singing; On the earth the wind is moaning. ‘I am blest, in sunlight swinging!…
The stars cleave the sky. Yet for us they rest, And their race-course high Is a shining nest! The hours hurry on.