The bells of St. Agnes

Now beckon the weak

At Matins

They joyfully toll.

And blocks full of neighbours

Now count out the hour.

The times in His hands

They are told.

The front steps are busy

With feet called to pray,

To plumb from the depths

Of God’s ore.

And hope comes with asking

The broken made whole

The lonely find family

Once more.

Yes, weak, I had mentioned,

The last rings now heard

The doors finally shut

For the hour.

A hearty “good morning”

And smiles all around

And thankful lambs soak

In Christ’s power.

And they have more sense

Than to trust in their stuff

When the riches of grace

Are held up.

Praise the Lord for His Passion

And the sight of His Cross

And the High Life renewed

With that Cup.



Note: Consider the last line. My first draft had the words “in that Cup”. World of difference.

come to gather

Doug Blair, Waterloo, Ontario


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