True life

“Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife,
Some pure ideal of a noble life
That once seemed possible? Did we not hear
The flutter of its wings and feel it near,
And just within our reach? It was. And yet
We lost it in this daily jar and fret,
And now live idle in vain 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.
Since good, tho’ only thought, has life and breath,
God’s life – can always be redeemed from death;
And evil, in its nature, is decay,
And any hour can blot it all away;
The hopes that, lost, in some far distance seem,
May be the truer life, and this the dream.”

The Ghost in the Picture Room by Adelaide Anne Proctor, in “The Haunted House” by Charles Dickens.


Seek not tangible work of hands

Bountiful good of lands

Seek not sweat of effort on brow

Milk and honey

sweet culture scent 

brew ferment

Dew drop pure, nor lament

Seek not revelling aching 

limb and ligament

Slaving till reckoning day

Clutching dear at.most.fear

Seek diligently

Hidden – heard and felt

In the realm of angels 

A World within One self.

For this we silently slave

Driving apathy away

Drilling at walls that form

In thin air

Suspended in a thick 

blanket of despair

That clouds the eyes 

marks our stare

One name desires us, 

pierces our side

He asks us ‘Do you dare?’

What we see here is

Swings and roundabouts

The universe

The sea

The atmosphere

Heaven declares the unseen


Fear not.