#ScottishWriters
I HAVE leaned on God And have been comforted by Him: My fears have been allayed ; My terror of Death has been forgo… My frightened heart
Take thou this box, O Heart’s Desire; In it lies thy ring And more, my heart, bleeding ; Take out thy ring,
Let me not think of blood to-night… So doing It will be harder still to fight: Peace’s wooing Sucks blood making me white
I PRAY to God at night, Tho’ I know not where He is Nor what He is; Nor whether I am right: I pray to God at night.
WALKING among men like a phanto… With vacant eyes and listless air, Unmarked, befriended, jeered at, l… Only smiling in reply And drawing into self again
Think not of me as facing death, Tattered, labouring for breath ; Rather think of one who strays Dreaming dreams by perfumed ways. Soon I may die, ah! true, ’tis tr…
The round moon hangs like a yellow… That lie like lace against the sil… Oh, still the night! Oh, hushed t… Surely God is nigh.
JUNE! the joyous, sun-filled mon… When roses, emblems of a heaven, c… Strange melodies in garden and in… With blithesome birds that sing in… Of English lanes; and thousand ot…
If I should die—chatter only this… ‘A bullet flew by that did not mis… I did not give life up because of… That bullet came thro’, and that w… Don’t put up a cross where my dung…
I WANDER in the dawn to where t… I hear the songs of singing birds;… I hear the faint hum of flies; and… All things fill my soul with prais… I do not ask for dim cathedral pla…
Have you seen men come from the L… Tottering, doddering, as if bad wi… Had drugged their very souls; Their garments rent with holes And caked with mud
It is not sweet to die for one’s c… I saw a dead man stinking in a tre… Where even flies would sicken with… Ah! is it sweet to die for one’s c… His face had rotted black as ebony…
A HISSING Stove whose pale blu… Boils peeled potatoes pillaged wit… The night before from captured vil… The Germans were, not long ago ;… A wooden table ; and in glimmering…
I HEAR a rat scurrying At the end o’ the street Across the moon-lit stones, hurryi… To dingier retreat— A ruined house against the moon,
A DIGGER he digs in the dark In the naked remains of a wood, For his friend that lies stiff and… On his head hard blood for a hood: The digging is painful and slow,