* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The first chimes from the steeples
Rang out in accents clear;
And like accordant music
Fell on the listening ear.—
As yet no note of sorrow
Was mingled in their tone;
They seemed like benedictions
Descending from the Throne.
No thought had the good people
Of shadows hovering near—
No thought that ere the noon-tide
Full many a bitter tear
Would fall.—(Oh! all-wise Father—
By thy supernal power
Revert the pending danger
Ere falls the fatal hour!
Ah! why?—our hearts may question,—
Ye mortals!—none can tell!
’Tis meet, on Him relying
Who doeth all things well.)—
Once more the bells’ sweet music
From all the belfrys rang;
Bidding the folk to gather
For worship.—Praise they sang.
And as they turned their footsteps—
Each toward his wonted church;
All was serene and peaceful
As far as eye could search.
But hark! What meant the tumult
Arising in yon street—
And why disperse those people
With swiftly hurrying feet?—
And why that shrill voice shouting
As if in dire alarm—
Did’st know ’twas misdemeanor
To break the Sabbath calm?—
As onward sped the herald,
With face the hue of death
And wild-bright eyes, an instant
He paused to regain breath,—