 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
III
That night the fire-bells rang
And the flames shot up to the sky,
And into the street as pale as a sheet
The town-folk flock and cry.
And the flames shot up to the sky,
And into the street as pale as a sheet
The town-folk flock and cry.
The bells ring loud and long,
The flames leap high and higher,
The rattling engines come too late—
The old First Church is on fire!
The flames leap high and higher,
The rattling engines come too late—
The old First Church is on fire!
And lo and behold in the crimson glare
They see John Carman stand—
A look of mirth on his iron lips
And a blazing torch in his hand.
They see John Carman stand—
A look of mirth on his iron lips
And a blazing torch in his hand.
“You say it was He who killed her”
(His voice had a fearful sound):
“I'd have you know, who love Him so,
I've burned His house to the ground.”
(His voice had a fearful sound):
“I'd have you know, who love Him so,
I've burned His house to the ground.”
John Carman died in prison,
In the madman's cell, they say;
And from his crime, that I've told in rhyme,
Heaven cleanse his soul, I pray.
In the madman's cell, they say;
And from his crime, that I've told in rhyme,
Heaven cleanse his soul, I pray.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |