Frederick George Scott Quotes

Give me splendour in my death —
Not this sickening dungeon breath,
Creeping down my blood like slime,
Till it wastes me in my prime.Give me back for one blind hour,
Half my former rage and power,
And some giant crisis send,
Meet to prove a hero's end.

Clay was I; the potter Thou
With Thy thumb-nail smooth'dst my brow,
Rolltdst the spittle-moistened sands
Into limbs between Thy hands.
[...]
Strong Thou mad'st me, till at length
All my weakness was my strength;
Tortured am I, blind and wrecked,
For a faulty architect.

So often have I met death face to face,
His eyes now wear the welcome of a friend's.

Oh, curses on you hand and head, Like the rains in this wild weather
The guilt of blood is swift and dread,
Your sister's face is cold and dead,
Ye may not part whom God would wed And love hath knit together.

'How slayeth Sin?'
First, God is hid,
And the heart within
By its own self chid;
Then the maddened brain
Is scourged by pain
To sin as before
And more and more,
For evermore.

Is Sin, then, fair?' Nay, love, come now,
Put back the hair From his sunny brow;
See, here, blood-red
Across his head
A brand is set,
The word — 'Regret.'

I saw Time in his workshop carving faces; Scattered around his tools lay, blunting griefs, Sharp cares that cut out deeply in reliefs
Of light and shade: sorrows that smooth the traces
Of what were smiles.

Growing to full manhood now,
With the care-lines on our brow,
We, the youngest of the nations, With no childish lamentations,
Weep, as only strong men weep,
For the noble hearts that sleep, Pillowed where they fought and bled,
The loved and lost, our glorious dead.