The peasant quits his cottage-home;
All cheerfully, all pleasantly,
To church the people come.
They come from far-off heathy moors,
From lonely farms, from quiet dells,
Led strongly, irresistibly,
By the sweet chime of Sabbath bells.
Across the fields, across the green,
From shades emerge they to the light;
And seen in groups, or singly seen,