Seed o' the corn was thine—
Body of Him thus broken
And mingled with blood o' the vine—
The bread and the wine of life;
Out of the good sunshine
They were given to thee as a token—
The body of Him, and the blood of Him,
When the gifts of God were rife.
What then wert thou, and what art now,
After the weary strife?
And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! Rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Where are they now, O, bells?
Where are the fruits o' the mission?
Garnered, where no one dwells,
Shepherd and flock are fled.
O'er the Lord's vineyard swells
The tide that with fell perdition
Sounded their doom and fashioned their tomb
And buried them with the dead.
What then wert thou, and what art now?—
The answer is still unsaid.
And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! Rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
Where are they now, O tower!
The locusts and wild honey?
Where is the sacred dower
That the bride of Christ was given?
Gone to the wielders of power,
The misers and minters of money;
Gone for the greed that is their creed—
And these in the land have thriven.
What then wer't thou, and what art now,
And wherefore hast thou striven?
And every note of every bell
Sang Gabriel! Rang Gabriel!
In the tower that is left the tale to tell
Of Gabriel, the Archangel.
CHARLES WARREN STODDARD.