Lord, I'm an auld man, An' I'm deein! An' do what I can I canna help bein Some feart at the thoucht! I'm no what I oucht! An' thou art sae gran', Me but an auld man! ...
Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge Unto my future nights, and I will cut Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut On every set of day; or as a sledge Drawn over snowy plains; where not a hedge...
One do I see and twelve; but second there Methinks I know thee, thou beloved one; Not from thy nobler port, for there are none More quiet-featured: some there are who bear...
Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin sings, Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings; Whaur the birks are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht, And the brume hings its lamps by day and by nicht;...
The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid, Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin; It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed O' nonsense, an' wadna blin Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin. ...
Is there a man on earth, who, every night, When the day hath exhausted each strong limb, Lays him upon his bed in chamber dim, And his heart straightway trembling with delight,...
Heavily slumbered noonday bright Upon the lone field, glory-dight, A burnished grassy sea: The child, in gorgeous golden hours, Through heaven-descended starry flowers, Went walking on the lea. ...
Heavily lay the warm sunlight Upon the green blades shining bright, An outspread grassy sea: She through the burnished yellow flowers Went walking in the golden hours That slept upon the lea. ...
The infant lies in blessed ease Upon his mother's breast; No storm, no dark, the baby sees Invade his heaven of rest. He nothing knows of change or death-- Her face his holy skies;...
A clock aeonian, steady and tall, With its back to creation's flaming wall, Stands at the foot of a dim, wide stair. Swing, swang, its pendulum goes, Swing--swang--here--there!...
What human form is this? what form divine? And who are these that gaze upon his face Mild, beautiful, and full of heavenly grace, With whose reflected light the gazers shine?...
And must I ever wake, gray dawn, to know Thee standing sadly by me like a ghost? I am perplexed with thee that thou shouldst cost This earth another turning! All aglow...
The weary Old Year is dead at last; His corpse 'mid the ruins of Time is cast, Where the mouldering wrecks of lost Thought lie, And the rich-hued blossoms of Passion die...
LORD, I do choose the higher than my will. I would be handled by thy nursing arms After thy will, not my infant alarms. Hurt me thou wilt--but then more loving still,...
SO shall abundant entrance me be given Into the truth, my life's inheritance. Lo! as the sun shoots straight from out his tomb, God-floated, casting round a lordly glance...