THE CHURCH BELL.
I.
That old church bell is dear to me,
When from its ancient tower
Its silvery tones sound solemnly,
To tell the service-hour;
It seems as if it almost spoke
The words of trustful prayer,
And promised to the spirit broke
With sin, a pardon there.
II.
I love it when it sadly tolls
The knell of life departed,
And gently murmurs sympathy
To mourners broken-hearted;
It whispers of a spirit passed
From doubt and pain and care,
And tells of heaven, and bids them hope
To meet the lost one there.
III.
I love it when its merry peal
Welcomes the coming day,
And rouses me from peaceful sleep
My gratitude to pay;
It bids me pray for strength to do
My daily duty given;
To hope that each successive morn
May find me nearer heaven.
VI.
Then dear is that old bell to me,
And dear its merry peal;
For ’tis a voice of sympathy
With human woe and weal;
Whether my heart with sadness sink,
Or light with pleasure dance,
It speaks to me in every tone
Of Life’s significance.
J. O. W.