 | Wood-notes and Church-bells |  |
33
GOING TO CHURCH.
We plucked fresh violets as we walked alongThrough quiet lanes to Church. A genial flood
Of sunshine lured each bead-like hedgerow bud
To unfurl its green. The air was full of song
And those sweet-mingled voices that belong
To happy vernal hours in field and wood.
Subdued by that fair scene silent we stood
Mid Nature's joyous, inarticulate throng.
But suddenly we heard our Church bells ringing,
Hallowing the calm, bright morn with solemn sound,
In sweet accord with songs and sunshine, flinging
Their gracious invitations all around—
Bidding us come where psalms would soon be winging
A burst of choral praise to Heaven's high bound.
| Wood-notes and Church-bells | |