Poems by Sandy McPhee

Father J. P. Coghlan

In the bitter cold of '35;

In answer to our call;

A Catholic priest came into town,

To serve our parish small.

No great cathedral found he there,

Of masonry and stone;

But just a chapel built of wood,

And standing all alone.

The vestry served him as a home,

Through bitter times, and yet,

He carved his way into the hearts,

Of everyone he met.

He served his parish through the years,

With faith, and strength and skill;

And soon a rectory stood beside,

The chapel on the hill.

But fate, my friends, not always kind,

Befell our church and spire;

For '50 saw our chapel small,

Succumb to raging fire.

He faltered not beneath this blow,

But took it as God willed;

He sought the schoolhouse for his mass,

And started to rebuild.

No chapel small, for through the years,

The parish grew and grew;

A spacious church of solid brick,

Took form in '52.

For eight more years the rectory stood,

While all around had grown;

To house this priest and curate now,

But comfort was unknown.

Well, '60 saw the rectory new,

Of brick and great steel beams;

A just reward for many years,

Of toil, and sweat, and dreams.

How fate lays down a heavy hand,

The parish left to grieve;

For though his dream is now complete,

Health forces him to leave.

And as we gather here tonight,

To bid him fond adieu;

We pray the Lord will guide and bless,

In all things he may do.

Though fate may take him far away,

To dwell in distant parts;

The name of Father Coghlan;

Will live long, within our hearts.

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Father Jim

Within our midst this evening,

we have an honoured guest,

a man whom each and everyone knows well;

we traced back through his lifetime,

looking here and there,

just to find a few short stories we might tell.

It was in the town of Creighton,

he first saw the light of day,

from here it seems he hit the road to fame;

his boyhood friends all called him BABE,

and yes, it kind of fits,

a fellow sharp by nature, SHARPE by name.

In Copper Cliff his High School days

had quickly come and gone,

he received the call to priesthood it seems,

and coming from a family

that numbered ten in all,

I'm sure this well fulfilled his parents' dreams.

His Seminary years went by,

he learned to teach God's word,

here he was known as HARPO to the crew;

it might have been the curly hair,

but I'm inclined to think,

that a little devil showed up in him too.

For here he seemed to lead the pack

and tell the tallest tales,

he tried to make them swallow every line;

how he washed windows underground,

and fed the timber dogs,

up North when he was working in the mine.

We leave the Seminary now,

though tales are yet untold,

there is one thing we would like to tell;

at spreading joy and laughter,

and at keeping spirits high,

this HARPO served his classmates rather well.

A Parish Priest in Lively,

as well as out in Levack,

he also spent some time at Christ the King;

till they sent him further westward,

and from stories I've been told,

the Wawa Goose took him beneath her wing.

For ten years now our shepherd,

in the church upon the hill,

there's one thing that we noticed from the start,

no matter where he came from,

no matter where he goes,

this fellow is a true-blue Scot at heart.

He wears a Tam-O'-Shanter,

and he blows a right mean pipe,

he would not dare to miss a Highland Game,

and when it comes to medicine

to ward away the cold,

he'll tell you plainly Haig & Haig's the name.

If you should meet him on the street,

and stop a while to chat,

make sure you have a little time to kill;

he'll have you in Glengarry,

sure as Robbie Burns is Scotch,

and, yes, you'll take a stroll through Apple Hill.

Well, HARPO, BABE, FATHER SHARPE,

what's really in a name?

what counts is in the man, and what's inside;

your Silver Anniversary's come,

you've reached a grand plateau;

I'm sure your heart must swell this night, with pride.

If God gave you the power tonight,

in this, a crowded Church,

to gaze right deep in each and every heart,

t'would clearly fill your eyes with tears,

and make you prouder still;

to know the wish for you we all impart.

May the Lord in His domain, his wisdom, and His love,

serve you throughout long years, as you serve him;

Good Luck!

Good health!

May joy be yours!

God bless you - Father Jim

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Golden Anniversary

Father Harris

If we let our thoughts roll backward, over fifty bygone years,

The history of St. John's we then might scan;

To a little wooden chapel, sitting high upon a hill,

This is where our little parish first began.

Oh, the wind blew through the rafters, and the draft came through the floor;

The windows oft' times rattled in the breeze,

Still we came to Mass on Sunday, there to hear God's holy word;

To ask His guidance there on bended knees.

Our parents came to worship, and we too then followed suit,

Our children and their children came as well;

Throughout the years from '35, until this very day;

We watched our little congregation swell.

We had our share of sorrows, as well as times of joy,

For our little wooden church succumbed to fire;

Still we took it as the will of God, and started to rebuild,

And a church of brick arose to all inspire.

We have had the finest pastors - Father John and Father Ken,

Father Pat, and yes, of course, there's Father Jim'

Father Harris steers the ship to-day, the man behind the wheel;

The guiding of the flock now rests with him.

Four young men were called to priesthood, and went on to serve the Lord,

Five young ladies from our parish did the same;

We've had curates by the number, come and go throughout the years,

Fine young men, but far too numerous to name.

We said good-bye to many, as they left for other parts,

We welcomed in new faces, as they came;

Now we turn toward the future, all the years that lie ahead,

And we ponder then our purpose and our aim.

We have lost a goodly number, in the years that have gone by,

They were tried and true, and stalwart to the core;

Though our parish suffered greatly, with the loss of such as these;

They bring brilliance to that far-off distant shore.

Our hearts go out in sorrow, to the loved ones left behind,

The Lord will heal their heartache at His will;

The flowing sands of memory hold their footprints ever deep,

These the blowing winds of time will never fill.

Let us therefore face the future, with our best foot to the fore,

And from this life's great purpose never swerve;

To leave, as they, a heritage for those who come behind,

A requiem that they so well deserve.

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Father Charles

We have an honoured guest today,

there is no need to name

but still there's things that you should know,

that happened since he came.

When he first reached the rectory

so free from earthly care,

like poor Old Mother Hubbard then

he found the cupboard bare.

But as he stepped from room to room,

he thought the place was nice,

for he had running water here,

as well as running mice.

He soon had things in better shape,

and with a caring heart,

he joined in parish gatherings,

and always did his part.

When asked to sing at functions,

this man was always game.

he proved that noted vocalists,

could still be put to shame.

For when he took the microphone,

the audience he faced,

were soon to learn that Humperdink,

could easily be replaced.

He has a host of qualities,

we came to realize,

and one is his ability,

to plan and organize.

For under his direction,

the list of lectors grew.

Lay ministers and altar boys,

have added to their crew.

The women's league is in full bloom,

all this and even more.

Each Sunday as we come to church,

we are greeted at the door.

But then he struck a problem,

while one day taking stock.

He found a few old black sheep,

had mingled with the flock.

Some graying round the fringes,

and some with wool grown thin.

How could he save these poor lost sheep,

and break them free from sin?

He struck a rather fiendish plan,

and would not let it pass.

He set them up as altar boys,

to serve each funeral mass.

Although at first we doubted him,

we found he may be right.

If you carry burning candles,

you are bound to see the light.

Well father since you came to us,

a servant of the Lord,

we feel our ship was truly blessed,

the day you came aboard.

May peaceful waters long be yours,

as captain of the crew.

Now from the hearts of everyone,

we have this wish for you.

May you wake up every morning,

saying it's great to be alive.

May your years be oh so many more,

beyond your sixty-five.

May the Lord walk right beside you,

fulfilling every dream.

Happy Birthday Father Mathieu,

you are held in high esteem.