Frederick George Scott Poems

THE Muse, when asked what words alone
Were worthy tribute to his fame,
Took up her pen, and on the stone
Inscribed his name
...

IN sterner fight than Waterloo
He saved his hapless brothers;
Not by his own arm, it is true,
But by the arms of others.
...

GREAT mother! from the depths of forest wilds,
From mountain pass and burning sunset plain,
We, thine unlettered children of the woods,
Upraise to thee the everlasting hymn
...

A WAYSIDE cross at set of day
Unto my sprit thus did say—
"O soul, my branching arms you see
Point four ways to infinity.
...

THE three Fates sat in a house of birth,
Ah, well a day; ah, well a day;
Their eyes were bright, but not with mirth—
They have no love for the sons of earth—
...

THE confines of our being are not these
White limbs of sense. Our true selves broader are
And higher than the path of furthest star.
Beyond the reach of sense, each hears and sees
...

THERE come dull days in love's clear atmosphere,
When clouds and doubt obscure the wide expanse.
The woods are still; no songs of birds entrance;
No sunlight falls, and desolate and drear,
...

THINE everlasting mountains and their snows
And awful silence, floweret, know I not;
I have not wandered to thy native spot
Among the crags, but oft as I repose,
...

IMPERIAL city, slumb'ring on the throne
Of vanished empire, once thy voice and hands
Rocked the wide world; thy finger wove the lands
Into thy girdle; who for crown alone
...

WORDS are but passing symbols of the deep
Crying unto deep in individual souls.
And men are words on the great voice that rolls
Through Nature, since that morn when from their sleep
...