 | Thought and word |  |
13
SUNDAY BELLS.
Sweet Sunday Bells! your measured sound
Enhances that repose profound
Of all the golden fields around,
And range of mountain, sunshine-drown'd.
Enhances that repose profound
Of all the golden fields around,
And range of mountain, sunshine-drown'd.
Amid the cluster'd roofs outswells,
And wanders up the winding dells,
And near and far its message tells,
Your holy song, sweet Sunday Bells!
And wanders up the winding dells,
And near and far its message tells,
Your holy song, sweet Sunday Bells!
Sweet Sunday Bells! ye summon round
The youthful and the hoary-crown'd,
To one observance gravely bound;
Where comfort, strength, and joy are found.
The youthful and the hoary-crown'd,
To one observance gravely bound;
Where comfort, strength, and joy are found.
The while, your cadenced voice excels
To waken memory's tender spells;
Revives old joy-bells, funeral-knells,
And childhood's far-off Sunday Bells.
To waken memory's tender spells;
Revives old joy-bells, funeral-knells,
And childhood's far-off Sunday Bells.
O Sunday Bells! your pleading sound
The shady spring of tears hath found,
In one whom neither pew nor mound
May harbour in the hallow'd ground:
The shady spring of tears hath found,
In one whom neither pew nor mound
May harbour in the hallow'd ground:
Whose heart to your old music swells;
Whose soul a deeper thought compels;
Who like an alien sadly dwells
Within your chime, sweet Sunday Bells!
Whose soul a deeper thought compels;
Who like an alien sadly dwells
Within your chime, sweet Sunday Bells!
| Thought and word | |