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Have we not all, amid life's pretty strife,
Some pure idea of a noble life,
That once seemed possible? Did we not hear
The flutter of it's wings, and feel it near,
And just within it's reach? It was, and yet
We lost it in this daily fair and fret
And now live idle in a rain regret
But still our place is kept, and it will wait
Ready for us to fill it, soon or late, -
No star is ever lost we once have seen
We always may be, what we might have been.

Anna Low, Edinburgh, April 1887 : courtesy of Alan Wills

Happiness

Do you ask me, Love, with fond caress
What seems to me perfect happiness?
A golden day a saphire sky
An emerald earth and you and I
Roaming through woodlands green together
That's happiness in summer weather.

But, say 'tis winter; outside the snow,
And inside the fire's warm cheerful glow;
And we sit by it cheek to cheek
Silent sometimes and sometimes we speak.
So, I find, in summer or winter weather,
Happiness means - to be together.

A. Westwater, May 1888 : courtesy of Alan Wills

Blest they who seek,
While in their youth,
With spirit meek,
The way of truth

To them the sacred Scriptures now display,
Christ as the only true and living way;
His precious blood on Calvary was given
To make them heirs of endless bliss in heaven.
And even on Earth the child of God can trace
The glorious blessings of his Saviour's grace,

For them he bore
His Father's frown;
For them he wore
The thorny crown;
Nailed to the Cross
Endured it's pain:
That His lifes' loss
Might be their gain.
Then haste to choose
That better part
Not e'en dare refuse
The Lord thy heart,
Lest He declare
"I know you not",
And deep despair
Should be your lot.

C. L., October 1886 : courtesy of Alan Wills

Childhood

Little climber up on knees,
Your not half so hard to please.
So many who have grown so tall
That they do not need to climb at all.

You just looks and understands,
When I mix dough with my hands,
And you never disagree,
When it's time to make the tea.

When the months have  hurried by,
And your almost table high
You will start your riddles too
Why does one and one make two?

A Holiday

Men are always in the way,
If on holiday's they stay
At home. To sweep or mop or dust
Or try to free the stove from rust.

Women have a way their own
And some of us have we been shown.
Why they bully and demand
And always get the upper hand.

Supposing we should mend the floor
And start to oil a squeaky door
T'is certain we'll be told we're mean
For working when the house is clean.

If we've luck enough to get
A day off when it isn't wet
We could cut and roll the grass
And soon the holiday will pass.

A Valentine

I came to you this morning dear
When snow and wind go howling by
I came to greet you sweetheart dear
For me, the sun is shining high.

P.  Arnold Wills (written to his wife Margery on Valentines Day 1962)
courtesy of Alan Wills

Page last updated on 09 January 2003