Would harmlessly rebound from its rude aim
And wound the miscreant who had sped the bolt.
’Twas on a windy, dark and stormy night
That the old sexton rose from his warm hearth
To brave the old and dreary autumn rain;
For, on each night, at nine, the old church bell
Was rung, with the intent that all should then
Go to their quiet rest; that peaceful sleep
Might be the portion of each weary frame
Till morn should rouse them to their daily toil.