THE WHITE FRAME CHURCH

When e'er I hear the church bells ring
On a quiet Sabbath morn,
My thoughts go drifting back again
To the land where I was born.

Again I see that white frame church
With tombstones standing near,
And every Sabbath day the bell,
Would call the folks to prayer.

Some worshipers they lived close by,
And others far away;
The men folk they would meet and chat,
And then go in to pray.

'Twas there the children small were blest,
And marriage vows were said;
And in that plot with grass so green
We laid away our dead.

Each household had their family pew,
And every day of rest;
All would be seated in their place
Clad in their Sunday's best.

There was no choir in that old church,
But all knew how to sing,
And when they sang these good old hymns
They made the rafters ring.

I loved to go to that old church
To join in prayer and praise;
These memories will forever stay
With me through all my days.

And when the chimes of Sabbath bells
Comes floating through the air,
My thoughts go back to that old church
With tombstones standing near.

Photo: Anglican Church on Gin Cove head

BLESSINGS

How sweet is mem'ries of the past
When we were young and spry,
When every day seemed just the same,
And worries passed us by.

How sweet the sunlight and the air
After the summer's rain,
Likewise ourselves finds sweet relief
In pleasure after pain.

How sweet is sleep when weary limbs,
And brain relax in rest,
Some from their daily strenuous toil,
And some from care and stress.

How sweet to have a home and hearth
'Though poor our lot may be,
And strength to do our daily task,
Dwelling in harmony.

How sweet to have a stedfast faith
In a better world to come,
And daily press towards the goal
Until our course is run.

How sweet when we are growing old,
'Though our mem'ries not the best,
To have a sane and quiet mind,
And later, peaceful rest.

THE NAZARENE

Long, long ago at Nazareth
There dwelled a carpenter by trade,
With chisel, saw and plane He wrought,
And due respect to Him was paid.

This Nazarene he had a Son,
And in the Good Old Book we find
Although He was of lowly birth,
Yet He was born of David's line.

And when the time was fully come
His mission He began on earth;
He healed the sick, gave sight to blind,
And raised up invalids since birth.

He taught the poor from day to day,
And children small by Him were blest;
This was His theme, and this His text,
"Come unto Me, I'll give you rest".

In homes and wards of hospitals
Where sick and broken bodies lie,
The great Physician still draws near,
Although unseen by human eye.

May, 1950

THE GREAT DIVIDE

There is a land beyond our sight,
And often we may yearn
To catch a glimpse of that blest shore,
From whence none e'er return;
But when some day we launch away
To sail that rolling tide,
May we be safely wafted on
Across the Great Divide.

At time when evening shadows fall,
In fancy we may hear
Those voices calling from afar
Beyond our earthly sphere;
And as we sit and meditate
Beside life's changing tide,
We know our friends awaits us there
Beyond the Great Divide.

When life's short day draws to an end
Led by an evening star,
We'll launch our barque and sail away
Out o'er the harbour bar;
Our Pilot will be waiting there
To guide us o'er the tide,
And there contented we will dwell
Beyond the Great Divide.

June, 1948

OLD JEFF

Old Jeff he was a quiet man,
And never heard to 'cuss',
He never argued with his wife
When she would start a fuss.

He'd sit around the house at night
With leg crossed o'er his knee,
and smoke his pipe with sweet content;
A happy man was he.

He was an easy going soul,
Folks said he had no pride,
But Jeff took everything in fun,
And never seemed annoyed.

Old Jeff he was an honest man,
He seemed too slow to rob,
But when he had his work to do
He did an honest job.

He went each Sunday to his church,
And sat in the same pew;
He'd listen to the parson preach
The things he ought to do.

Until one day old Jeff passed on
Into a better land,
And 'though he leaved no wealth behind,
He died an honest man.

April, 1944

PEACE

There is peace beside still waters,
And the Psalmist sang it's praise,
Where the young lambs skip and frolic,
And the lowing cattle graze.

Where the sunlit silent river
Gently flows toward the sea.
And the song birds in the willows
Sing their notes of melody.

There is peace in many a valley,
Where the farmer tills the sod,
And the rustling waving wheat fields
Speaks of nature and of God.

There is peace where sons and daughters
Live their lives in harmony,
When no discord or commotion
Mar their homes and unity.

There is peace in many a bosom
Though dull cares may press them sore;
Peace that passeth understanding;
Peace of God that shall endure.

October, 1947

THE SABBATH DAY

The Sabbath day was made for man
To pause, and rest awhile,
This day well spent oft brings content
To men of honest toil.

Each Sabbath morn church bells ring out
Their message o'er the air,
Come one come all, they seem to call,
And join in praise and prayer.

Old folks with slow uncertain steps,
And youth with buoyant spring,
All wend their way, their vows to pay,
And psalms and hymns to sing.

They've kept the faith their fathers knew
And in their steps have trod,
A heritage from age to age
Freedom to worship God.

It matters not your race or creed,
Or if you're dark or fair,
There's One who'll met, and waits to greet
You in His house of prayer.

November, 1947

THE CHRISTMAS STORY

Ring out ye bells across the sky,
Peal forth your message loud and clear;
The Yuletide season's drawing nigh,
A season of goodwill and cheer.

It's nigh two thousand years ago,
Since humble shepherds in the glen
Heard seraphs from the starlight glow
Sing "Peace on earth, goodwill to men."

"I bring good tidings of great joy;"
This message thrilled the shepherds ears,
From herald angels hovering night,
And it was echoed through the years.

And soon throughout all Christendom,
The story will again be told,
How wise men guided by a star,
Brought gifts with incense, myrrh and gold.

So may we all our homage pay
With one accord glad tributes bring;
May young and old on Christmas day,
Proclaim the birthday of their King.

December, 1947

TRUSTING

I do not wish
To know what waits around the bend
Of this life's road on which I wearily wend,
There'll be safe lodgings at its farther end
When day is done.

I do not ask
Or yearn to know what lies before,
Or what each day in future have in store;
But when at last this pilgrimage is o'er
I'll understand.

I would not choose
To journey through this world again,
Amidst discomfort, weariness and pain;
But life is sweet, and here I shall remain
Until life's end.

I dare not choose
My path I tread from day to day,
'Though oft I fain would choose some smoother way;
But trusting to a greater Strength I'll say
Thy will be done.

I'll ask no favours when at last my score
Is added up, but this I will implore,
For just a humble place, just 'round the door
Of God's great love.

May 9, 1951

HYMN OF PRAISE

Come, let us join in songs of praise,
With one accord our voices raise,
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice,
And let all thankful hearts rejoice.

O may we all on this glad day,
With grateful hearts our homage pay
Unto our God who rules on high,
For all the blessings we enjoy.

We thank Thee for past mercies, Lord;
For strength renewed, and health restored,
And for all gifts Thyself bestow
On us They creatures here below.

We thank Thee for Thy love and care,
And all the earthly joys we share;
O make us worthy of that love,
And fit us for Thy home above.

There with that great triumphant throng,
We too, may learn the heavenly song,
And join with angels as they sing
Glad songs of praise to Christ our King.

Sung in St. Chad's Anglican Church, Toronto, on July 27, 1941

BLESSINGS

How sweet the memories of the past
When we were young and free,
And every day was just the same,
The time passed merrily.

How sweet is sleep when tired limbs,
And brain repose to rest;
Some from their hard and honest toil,
And some from care and stress.

How sweet the sunshine, and the air
After the summer rain,
So we ourselves finds sweet relief
In pleasure after pain.

How sweet is health, and strength each day
To do our daily task,
A quiet mind, a peaceful home,
What more have we to ask.

How sweet to live in a peaceful land
Secure from war's alarms,
And lay us down in peace each night
With neither fear, or harm.

How sweet to have a hearth and home
Though poor our lot may be;
And share each others joys and griefs,
Dwelling in harmony.

How sweet to have a steadfast faith
In a better world to come,
And live each day in simple trust
Until our course is run.

How sweet if we live to grow old
Though memory's not the best,
To have a sane and quiet mind,
And later, peaceful rest.

August, 1943