 | Beads from a Rosary |  |
101
THE PASSING BELL.
'Tis a pleasant place, this world of ours,
Rosy and bright, and wreath'd with flowers;
With birds, that carol on every spray,
And fountains, that flash in the sunny day;
With streams, that sing as they wander by,
And a fair blue Heaven for a canopy,—
But heavily tolleth the passing bell!
Rosy and bright, and wreath'd with flowers;
With birds, that carol on every spray,
And fountains, that flash in the sunny day;
With streams, that sing as they wander by,
And a fair blue Heaven for a canopy,—
But heavily tolleth the passing bell!
Ah yes, a beautiful world is ours,
With hopes that are fairer than fairest flowers—
With fanciful thoughts, and happy dreams,
That have sweeter voices than birds and streams,
And tender emotions, that rise and fall,
From the soul's bright founts—but amidst them all
Heavily tolleth the passing bell!
With hopes that are fairer than fairest flowers—
With fanciful thoughts, and happy dreams,
That have sweeter voices than birds and streams,
And tender emotions, that rise and fall,
From the soul's bright founts—but amidst them all
Heavily tolleth the passing bell!
102
Fadeth the beauty that round us lies,
Waneth the blue of the brightest skies,
Quenched are the hopes, and the happy dreams,
Ceaseth the flow of the heart's clear streams,
Mute are the voices, so loud before,
Gone is the glory for evermore,
When heavily tolleth the passing bell!
Waneth the blue of the brightest skies,
Quenched are the hopes, and the happy dreams,
Ceaseth the flow of the heart's clear streams,
Mute are the voices, so loud before,
Gone is the glory for evermore,
When heavily tolleth the passing bell!
Oh land of Heaven, from the majesty
And the beauty of earth, I turn to thee!
For thine are the hopes that can ne'er decay,
And thine are the voices that sing for aye,
And thine is the freedom from grief and pain,
And thine is the lovely and fair domain,
Where nevermore tolleth the passing bell!
And the beauty of earth, I turn to thee!
For thine are the hopes that can ne'er decay,
And thine are the voices that sing for aye,
And thine is the freedom from grief and pain,
And thine is the lovely and fair domain,
Where nevermore tolleth the passing bell!
| Beads from a Rosary | |