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Title: The Old Scottish Minister
Author: W. M. MacKeracher [
More Titles by MacKeracher]
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.
A father, too, he was to all
His congregation there:
To all he felt a father's love,
And showed a father's care:
He wisely counselled them with speech,
And pled for them in prayer;
And ever for the needy ones
He something had to spare:
Like a kind old Scottish minister,
All of the olden time.
The servant of the Lord he was,
In hovel and in hall,--
The high ambassador of heaven
Whom earth could not enthrall;
Like Christ among the wedding guests,
Or by the funeral pall;
And he made his daily life sublime,
A pattern unto all:
Like a grand old Scottish minister,
All of the olden time.
For truth and righteousness and love
His voice was ever heard;
And minds were kindled into thought,
And consciences were stirred,
And weary, heavy-laden hearts
To faith and hope were spurred,
As from the pulpit he proclaimed
The everlasting Word:
Like a faithful Scottish minister,
All of the olden time.
And when, amid his elders grave,
Extended in a line
Beside the table of the Lord,
He kept the rite divine,
His face with a rapt, unearthly look
Was seen to strangely shine,
As he broke the white, symbolic bread,
And passed the sacred wine:
Like a saintly Scottish minister,
All of the olden time.
His lot was hard, his task severe;
He found the burden light:
When darkly o'er his pathway hung
The shadows of the night,
His heart was steadfast, for he walked
By faith, and not by sight;
And ran triumphantly his course,
And fought a goodly fight:
Like a brave old Scottish minister,
All of the olden time.
And when upon a summer's day
He laid him down to die,
He called his household to his side
Without a moan or sigh,
And blessed his children each in turn,
And said a fond good-bye,
And then consigned his soul to God,
And went to live on high:
Like a good old Scottish minister,
All of the olden time.
[The end]
W. M. MacKeracher's poem: Old Scottish Minister
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