Home Poem by Lawrence Frankpitt Fearby

Could hope but take me by the hand

And lead me to that dreamt of land

Oh! God in simple faith I cling

Some day you'll grant this wondrous thing.



Away from heat and sand and flies

And burning placid desert skies

Oh! Give me England's cooling rain

Her winds to blow the leaves again



I wish not wealth nor power nor fame

Nor yet a title to my name

I do not seek your marble halls

But just a roof before your walls.



Four walls that stand on English ground

With woods, and fields and hills around

Or be it on your moorland down

Or in that smoky busy town



While winter's snow stands ankle high

And tumbles from a milk-white sky

The evening finds me with a book

Beside that cozy chimney nook.



Glad music too would fill the air.

Around that happy pair,

Quiet themes and mighty chords

To shake the very flooring boards



But pause and let me bring to mind

That greater joys are there to find

It needs no man created art

To satisfy a simple heart



Yea oaks and elms in green array

I'd watch your every bend and sway

‘Tis gold that copper beech to me

Much more than just a common tree



When summer lends its gladdening rays

I'd seek the stream and mountain braes.

Thus steeped in nature's joy I'd thrive

And thank The Lord to be alive.



And when at last, I joined the dead,

I would be on neatly pillowed bed.

From thence amid the good brown earth

Beneath the land that gave me birth.



Lawrence Frankpitt Fearby

30-09-1942