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The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan

In Two Volumes. With a Portrait
Buchanan, Robert Williams (1841-1901)

collapse sectionI. 
VOL. I.
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Early Poems.
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Undertones.
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Idyls and Legends of Inverburn.
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London Poems.
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Miscellaneous Poems.
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North Coast, and other Poems.
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Sonnets WRITTEN BY LOCH CORUISK, ISLE OF SKYE.
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CORUISKEN SONNETS.
 I. 
I. Lord, is it Thou?
 II. 
II. We are Fatherless.
 III. 
III. We are Children.
 IV. 
IV. When we are all Asleep.
 V. 
V. But the Hills will bear Witness.
 VI. 
VI. Desolate!
 VII. 
VII. Lord, art Thou here?
 VIII. 
VIII. God is Beautiful.
 IX. 
IX. The Motion of the Mists.
 X. 
X. Coruisk.
 XI. 
XI. But Whither?
 XII. 
XII. God is Pitiless.
 XIII. 
XIII. Yea, Pitiless.
 XIV. 
XIV. Could God be Judged.
 XV. 
XV. The Hills on their Thrones.
 XVI. 
XVI. King Blaabhein.
 XVII. 
XVII. Blaabhein in the Mists.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. The Fiery Birth of the Hills.
 XIX. 
XIX. The Changeless Hills.
 XX. 
XX. O Mountain Peak of a God.
 XXI. 
XXI. God the Image.
 XXII. 
XXII. The Footprints.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. We are Deathless.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. A Voice in the Whirlwind.
 XXV. 
XXV. Cry of the Little Brook.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. The Happy Hearts of Earth.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. Father, forgive Thy Child.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. God's Loneliness.
 XXIX. 
XXIX. The Cup of Tears.
 XXX. 
XXX. The Light of the World.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. Earth's Eldest Born.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. What Spirit Cometh?
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. Stay, O Spirit!
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. Quiet Waters.
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The Book of Orm.
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Political Mystics.
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Songs of the Terrible Year.
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Saint Abe and his Seven Wives.
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VOL. II.

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XXXII. What Spirit Cometh?

Who cometh wandering hither in my need?
What gentle Ghost from Heaven cometh now?—
Oh, I am broken to the rod indeed—
Father, my earthly father, is it thou?
The stooping shape with piteous human brow,
The dear quaint gesture, and the feeble pace,
The weary-eyed, world-worn, belovëd face,
Ev'n as they wildly faded, meet me now.
A gentle voice flows softly, saying plain:
‘From death comes light, from pain beatitude;
Chide not at loss, for out of loss comes gain;
Chide not at grief, for 'tis the Soul's best food—
Out of my death-chamber, out of wrong and pain,
Cometh a life and odour. God is good.’
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