A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations / Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.

by Unknown

BELLS.

And beneath upon the hem of it, thou shalt make pomegranates of blue, and of purple, and of scarlet, round about the hem thereof; and bells of gold between them round about.

And it shall be upon Aaron to minister: and his sound shall be heard when he goeth in unto the holy place before the Lord, and when he cometh out, that he die not.—Exodus, xxviii. 33, 35.

In that day shall there be upon the bells of the horses, Holiness unto the Lord.—Zechariah, xiv. 20.

What a deep murmur on the night-air swells,

What a clear tone draws irresistibly

The goblet from my mouth. Ye hollow bells,

Proclaim ye Easter’s dawn is drawing nigh?

The word of hope in that sweet music ringing,

That once, when o’er his sepulchre did close

The shades of night, from angel lips arose,

Assurance of a covenant renew’d to mortals bringing.

*****

What in your mighty sweetness, do you seek,

Ye tones of Heaven, with me that dwell in dust?

Seek elsewhere mortals flexible and weak.

I hear the message, but I cannot trust;

Faith’s chosen child is the miraculous.

I dare not strive those distant spheres to gain,

From whence these holy tidings came to us;

And yet it seems that long-remembered strain,

In youth, recalls me back to life again.

The kiss of heavenly love upon me fell,

In the deep stillness of the sabbath calm,

The heartfelt fullness of the sabbath bell,

A prayer to my glad soul sufficient balm,

Beyond conception sweet; a holy longing

Drove me to wander forth through wood and mead;

And in the thousand tear-drops warmly thronging,

I felt a world grow up, mine own indeed.

The joyous sports of youth those tones revealing,

Of the spring feast once more the joy unfolds,

And recollection, fraught with childish feeling,

Me from the last dread step of all withholds.

Oh sound, sound on, thou sweet celestial strain,

The tears well forth, the earth hath me again.

Goethe’s “Faust.”

List not those cries! How strangely do they blend

With the sweet bells from yonder gothic tower,

Pealing athwart the water. Such the contrast

Of wild religious awe to earthly clamour,

For on the morrow, and the morrow’s morrow,

At this still hour those bells will still peal on;

But these harsh sinful cries, the moment’s offspring,

Will with the moment pass to nought away,

They, and the passions, even as briefly raging;

And, as the echo of those cries, borne far

Up the deep silvery Thames, there dies in air

In the dim distance, seeming well to blend

With the calm beauty of the hour, and heighten

The melody of silence; so the thought

On this vain uproar shall in future years

Prove but a gentle memory! since we shared

The cares it wooed to life, together.

Archer Gurney.

Stop, O stop the passing bell!

Painfully, too painfully,

It strikes against the heart, that knell,

I cannot bear its tones—they tell

Of misery, of misery!

All that soothed and sweetened life,

In the mother and the wife—

All that would a charm have cast

O’er the future, as the past—

All is torturing in that knell!

Stop, O stop the passing bell!

Stop it! no—but change the tone,

And joyfully, ah, joyfully,

Let the altered chimes ring on,

For the spirit that hath flown,

Exultingly, exultingly!

She hath left her couch of pain,

She shall never feel again,

But as angels feel!—afar,

Chimed beyond the morning star,

Agony and death unknown!

Let the joyful chimes ring on!

Robert Story.