 | Poems |  |
BELL-SONGS.
I.
“Funera plango.”
Toll, toll, toll! soar, thou passing bell,
Over meadows green and quiet,
Over towns where life runs riot;
Do thine errand well!
Sing thy message, sad and calm,
Cold and holy as a psalm,
Hush us with thy knell!
Over meadows green and quiet,
Over towns where life runs riot;
Do thine errand well!
Sing thy message, sad and calm,
Cold and holy as a psalm,
Hush us with thy knell!
Toll, toll, toll! over wind and wave:
Through the sunshine's sudden fading,
Through the pine-tree's voice upraiding,
Where the wild seas rave.
Snow-drifts for the Summer wait;
Slumber for the desolate;
Silence in the grave.
Through the sunshine's sudden fading,
Through the pine-tree's voice upraiding,
Where the wild seas rave.
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Slumber for the desolate;
Silence in the grave.
Toll, toll, toll! through the quivering sky;
Chime thy song of wintry weather;
Cruel, through this rapturous ether,
Call the bride to die.
Chill, with thy relentless tongue,
Eyes that smiled and lips that sung;
Bid delight good-bye.
Chime thy song of wintry weather;
Cruel, through this rapturous ether,
Call the bride to die.
Chill, with thy relentless tongue,
Eyes that smiled and lips that sung;
Bid delight good-bye.
Toll, toll, toll! heaven is in the sound!
Sad alone to souls unready.
They whose lamps were trimmed and steady
Christ rejoicing found.
On thy rolling waves of tone
Float I to the Master's throne.
Life and love abound.
Sad alone to souls unready.
They whose lamps were trimmed and steady
Christ rejoicing found.
On thy rolling waves of tone
Float I to the Master's throne.
Life and love abound.
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II.
“Fulgora frango.”
Swinging slowly through the thunder
Thrill the vivid bolts asunder,
Make the storm-wind quail.
Hurl thy challenge, stern defender,
Fierce against the tempest's splendor,
Past the hissing hail.
Thrill the vivid bolts asunder,
Make the storm-wind quail.
Hurl thy challenge, stern defender,
Fierce against the tempest's splendor,
Past the hissing hail.
Leaping through affrighted heaven,
Swift the wrathful flames are driven,
Flashing death and fear.
Speak, thou bell! with sullen clangor
Overcry the tempest's anger,
Force the storm to hear.
Swift the wrathful flames are driven,
Flashing death and fear.
Speak, thou bell! with sullen clangor
Overcry the tempest's anger,
Force the storm to hear.
Unrelenting, burning, streaming,
Red o'er livid oceans gleaming,
Lightnings rend the sky.
Break the thunder's fearful chorus,
Lift thy peal of triumph o'er us,
Floating strong and high.
Red o'er livid oceans gleaming,
Lightnings rend the sky.
Break the thunder's fearful chorus,
Lift thy peal of triumph o'er us,
Floating strong and high.
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Tell the soul thy signal story,
How its own inherent glory
Nature's might shall quell.
Ring a pæan for the spirit
Fire nor flood shall disinherit.
Praise thy makers, bell!
How its own inherent glory
Nature's might shall quell.
Ring a pæan for the spirit
Fire nor flood shall disinherit.
Praise thy makers, bell!
III.
“Sabbata pango.”
Calmly dawns the golden day,
Over mountains pale and gray.
Man, forsake thy sleep and pray.
Come, come, come!
Over mountains pale and gray.
Man, forsake thy sleep and pray.
Come, come, come!
Swinging through the silent air,
Lo! the call itself is prayer.
Fence thy soul from sin and care.
Come, come, come!
Lo! the call itself is prayer.
Fence thy soul from sin and care.
Come, come, come!
Like a dream, serene and slow,
Through the dawn's aërial glow,
Hear the restful cadence flow:
Come, come, come!
Through the dawn's aërial glow,
Hear the restful cadence flow:
Come, come, come!
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Think that in my pleading tongue,
Through the dewy branches swung,
Christ himself this word hath sung:
Come, come, come!
Through the dewy branches swung,
Christ himself this word hath sung:
Come, come, come!
Toil and battle rest in peace,
In the holy light's increase,
Weary heart, from labor cease;
Come, come, come!
In the holy light's increase,
Weary heart, from labor cease;
Come, come, come!
Lo! up-rising from the dead,
God's own glory on His head,
His pure lips thy prayers have sped.
Come, come, come!
God's own glory on His head,
His pure lips thy prayers have sped.
Come, come, come!
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