A Faithful Preacher.

Let no one say of Christ's Church, "Ichabod,"
Or deem her strength partaker of decay,
Or think her trumpet voices fail. To-day
I saw a man who was a man of God,
His feet with gospel preparation shod,
The Spirit's quick and mighty weapon sway;
I heard him faithfully point out the way,
To him familiar, which the Master trod.

Intrepid, patient follower of the Lord,
While such as thou, obedient to His call,
Living epistles, known and read of all,
Proclaim the wonders of His sacred Word,
No sound of lamentation should be heard,
No shade of apprehension should appal.

W. M. MacKeracher

W. M. MacKeracher was a poet known for his contributions to Canadian literature during the early 20th century. His works often focused on themes of nature, human emotion, and the simplicity of rural life. Though not as widely known as some of his contemporaries, MacKeracher's poetry has been appreciated for its lyrical quality and depth. Much of his work was published in regional journals and anthologies, capturing the essence of Canadian landscapes and the human experience within them. His exact birth and death dates remain obscure.

W. M. MacKeracher

November Sunshine.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Rondeau: An April Day.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

The Old Scottish Minister.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

A Summer Evening Scene in Chateauguay

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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The Old Scottish Minister.

    A man he was of Scottish race,
        And ancient Scottish name;
    Of common mould, but lofty mien,
        That dignified his frame.
    And he lived a humble, quiet life,
        Obscure, unknown to fame;
    God's glory and the good of man
        His constant, only aim:
            Like a fine old Scottish minister,
                All of the olden time.

    He dearly loved his gentle wife,
        As everyone could tell;
    And watched his children as they grew,
        Lest any ill befell;
    And as he looked upon his boys
        His bosom oft would swell;
    For he reared them in the fear of God,
        And ruled his household well:
            Like a true old Scottish minister,
                All of the olden time.

W. M. MacKeracher

The Pastor's Reverie.

The pastor sits in his easy-chair,
With the Bible upon his knee.
From gold to purple the clouds in the west
Are changing momently;
The shadows lie in the valleys below,
And hide in the curtain's fold;
And the page grows dim whereon he reads,
"I remember the days of old."

"Not clear nor dark," as the Scripture saith,
The pastor's memories are;
No day that is gone was shadowless,
No night was without its star;
But mingled bitter and sweet hath been
The portion of his cup:
"The hand that in love hath smitten," he saith,
"In love hath bound us up."

Fleet flies his thoughts over many a field
Of stubble and snow and bloom,
And now it trips through a festival,
And now it halts at a tomb;
Young faces smile in his reverie,
Of those ...

Washington Gladden

Epistle To A Young Clergyman.

"Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth." 2 TIMOTHY ii. 15.

My youthful brother, oft I long
To write to you in prose or song;
With no pretence to judgment strong,
But warm affection,
May truest friendship rivet long
Our close connection!

With deference, what I impart
Receive with humble grateful heart,
Nor proudly from my counsel start,
I only lend it,
A friend ne'er aims a poisoned dart,
He wounds, to mend it.

A graduate you've just been made,
And lately passed the Mitred Head;
I trust, by the Blest Spirit, led,
And Shepherd's care:
And not a wolf, in sheepskin clad,
As numbers are.

The greatest office you sustain
For love of souls, and n...

Patrick Bronte

Lines From A Letter To A Young Clerical Friend

A strength Thy service cannot tire,
A faith which doubt can never dim,
A heart of love, a lip of fire,
O Freedom's God! be Thou to him!
Speak through him words of power and fear,
As through Thy prophet bards of old,
And let a scornful people hear
Once more Thy Sinai-thunders rolled.
For lying lips Thy blessing seek,
And hands of blood are raised to Thee,
And on Thy children, crushed and weak,
The oppressor plants his kneeling knee.
Let then, O God! Thy servant dare
Thy truth in all its power to tell,
Unmask the priestly thieves, and tear
The Bible from the grasp of hell!
From hollow rite and narrow span
Of law and sect by Thee released,
Oh, teach him that the Christian man
Is holier than the Jewish priest.
Chase back the shadows, gray and o...

John Greenleaf Whittier

Written After The Consecration Of The New Church At Kingswood.

When first the fane, that, white, on Kingswood-Pen,
Arrests, far off, the pausing stranger's ken,
Echoed the hymn of praise, and on that day,
Which seemed to shine with more auspicious ray,
When thousands listened to the prelate[214] there,
Who called on God, with consecrating prayer; -
I saw a village-maid, almost a child,        7
Even as a light-haired cherub, undefiled
From earth's rank fume, with innocent look, her eye
Meekly uplifted to the throne on high,
Join in the full choir's solemn harmony.
Oh, then, how many boding thoughts arose,
Lest, long ere varied life's uncertain close,
Those looks of modesty, that open truth
Lighting the forehead of ingenuous youth -
Lest these, as slowly steal maturing years,
Should fade, and grief succeed, and dimming tea...

William Lisle Bowles

The Ideal Preacher.

It was back in Renfrew County, near the Opeongo line,
Where the land's all hills and hollows and the hills are clothed with pine,
And in the wooded valleys little lakes shine here and there
Like jewels in the masses of a lovely woman's hair;
Where the York branch, by a channel ripped through rugged rocks and sand,
Sweeps to join the Madawaska, speeding downward to the Grand;
Where the landscape glows with beauty, like a halo shed abroad,
And the face of nature mirrors back the unseen face of God.

I was weary with my journey, and with difficulty strove
To keep myself awake at first, as, sitting by the stove
In old William Rankin's shanty, I attended as I might
To the pioneer backwoodsman's tales far on into the night;
But William talked until the need of sleep one quite forg...

W. M. MacKeracher