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Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife, / Some pure idea of a noble life / That once seemed possible?

Adelaide Anne Procter

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Seated one day at the organ
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Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies
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And yet We lost it in this daily jar and fret, And now live idle in a vague regret
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Did we not hear The flutter of its wings, and feel it near, And just within our reach? It was.
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One by one bright gifts from heaven Joys are sent thee here below
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Bright Gift Given Heart Heaven Joy One
Kinds hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy; God has none.
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See how time makes all grief decay.
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Words are mighty, words are living:Serpents with their venomous stings,Or bright angels, crowding round us
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Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife, / Some pure idea of a noble life / That once seemed possible?
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No star is ever lost we once have seen, We always may be what we might have been.
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I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys.
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Ease Finger Key Over Wandered Weary
To listen to Earth’s weary voices Louder every day Bidding her no longer linger
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Bidding Earth Linger Listen Louder Voie Weary
The men are much alarmed by certain speculations about women; and well they may be
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I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.
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Be strong to hope, O Heart! Though day is bright,
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Some pure ideal of a noble life That once seemed possible?
ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER

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