Lines Written On A Sabbath Morning.

    The snow lies pure and peaceful on the ground,
        Serenely smiles the azure sky o'erhead:
    The Sabbath spirit dwells on all around,
        And weekly toils and discords all are fled.

    But, ah! my soul is filled with worldly thought,
        My God, 'tis filled with thoughts of self and sin:
    With seeming care and trouble it is fraught,
        And peaceless discontentment reigns within.

    Send down from heaven the Spirit of Thy love,
        Its soothing influence in my soul instil;
    Uplift my worldly thoughts to things above,
        Subserve my wishes to Thy better will.

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

The Gold-Miners Of British Columbia.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Know'st Thou The Land?

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

My Two Boys.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

A Library.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

English

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A Sabbath Morning In The Country.

'Tis morning, and the meadows yet,
Are wet with gracious drops of dew.
Each blade of grass, and flow'r, is set
With sparkling gems of richest hue.
The sun, with rising glory, sheds
A radiance, that none divine,
Save those, who early leave their beds,
When glist'ning dew-drops briefly shine.

Just ere the rising sunbeams play,
From glorious orb, of rosy red,
There is no sound of life, no hum,
And but, seemingly, all things are dead.

But when the blessed, welcome beams,
Light up, and cheer, and warm the earth,
All things awaken from their dreams,
To celebrate Creation's birth.

The very fields are filled with life,
With hum of bee, and insect throng;
The woods are vocal, with the strife
Of friendly rivalry, in song.
But 'tis t...

Thomas Frederick Young

Sabbath Memories.

I love thee, Sabbath morn! - I cannot say
    But 'tis because my father loved thee so, -
    Because my mother's care-worn face would grow
So sweetly placid in thy peaceful ray; -

It may be, that is part of what endears
    Thee, Sabbath, to my soul; for memory stirs
    Old buried thoughts of his voice and of hers -
Heard never more on Earth - till sudden tears

So sadly sweet well up, I bid them flow,
    They leave a Sabbath in the soul when past;
    As when the sky, by April clouds o'ercast,
Shows fairer in the sun's returning glow.

I see the grass-grown lane we trod of old,
    Dear father, sainted mother! while
    The Sabbath sun looked down with loving smile,
And touched the hills and streams with rippling gold.

I hear y...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Sabbath Morning. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

The Sabbath bells are knolling slow,
The summer morn how fair!
Whilst father, mother, children go,
And seek the house of prayer.

Some, musing, roam the churchyard round,
Some turn their heads with sighs,
And gaze upon the new-made ground
Where old Giles Summers lies.

But see the pastor in his band,
The bells have ceased to knoll;
Now enter, and at God's command,
Think, Christian, of thy soul.

Whilst heavenly hopes around thee shine,
As in God's presence live,
And calmer comforts shall be thine,
Than all the world can give.

William Lisle Bowles

Lines written in an Album.

    With beauty and grace that greet the eye,
        How pleasing 'tis to trace,
    Within, the beauty of holiness, -
        That higher, heavenly grace!

W. M. MacKeracher

Devotional Incitements

"Not to the earth confined,
Ascend to heaven."


Where will they stop, those breathing Powers,
The Spirits of the new-born flowers?
They wander with the breeze, they wind
Where'er the streams a passage find;
Up from their native ground they rise
In mute aerial harmonies;
From humble violet, modest thyme,
Exhaled, the essential odours climb,
As if no space below the sky
Their subtle flight could satisfy:
Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride
If like ambition be 'their' guide.

Roused by this kindliest of May-showers,
The spirit-quickener of the flowers,
That with moist virtue softly cleaves
The buds, and freshens the young leaves,
The birds pour forth their souls in notes
Of rapture from a thousand throats
Here checked b...

William Wordsworth

Sonnet: - III.

Oh, holy sabbath morn! thrice blessed day
Of solemn rest, true peace, and earnest prayer.
How many hearts that never knelt to pray
Are glad to breathe thy soul-sustaining air.
I sit within the quiet woods, and hear
The village church-bell's soft inviting sound,
And to the confines of the loftiest sphere
Imagination wings its airy round;
A myriad spirits have assembled there,
Whose prayers on earth a sweet acceptance found.
I go to worship in Thy House, O God!
With her, thy young creation bright and fair;
Help us to do Thy will, and not despair,
Though both our hearts should bend beneath Thy chastening rod.

Charles Sangster