O, Lord,
I don't sleep so good.
Old wounds, old scars
Just keep on hollering.

Do you mind if I pay you a visit tonight?
The wounds don't ache so much
And the scars don't itch,
When I'm alone with You.

There's such a lot of chuckles
When I think of the many things You did,
And places where Your blessings fell.
Where men said--"It can't be done!"

Remember, Lord,
The Great Depression when all there was
Was nuthin'--no money, no jobs, just nuthin'.
"Twas there You built the hospitals,

In his article, "I Sail the Sea," Percy Wills gives this account of a rescue they made one day while he was still serving at sea on the "Messenger III."

"Some of my most excellent memories are to do with this lovely thing, [the sea] which at times is just a [terrible] mistress. It has been our privilege, also, to stand by some stricken ships that were lying in the throes of death. As they approached their end it always made me feel that the sea was laughing up its sleeve, pitying our feeble efforts to sustain life.

In some of his writings, Percy Wills wrote this paragraph on missionary work as it is done on the west coast of Vancouver Island, B.C.

On our west Coast, particularly [of Vancouver Island, B.C.], a missionary cannot expect to live as city folks do. His life is filled with blood, sweat and tears, and he is never far from privation. He caanot phone the fuel company and ask for oil to be delivered to his tank in his backyard, from whence he derives his heat. The missionary must often go out and cut the wood from the forest, lug it home on his back, and then set fire to it, after having cut it to the required size for kindling and firewood.