Above this stormy din,
We too would hear the bells of cheer
Ring peace and freedom in!
John George Whittier.
CCLXXVIII
COME UP FROM THE FIELDS, FATHER.
Come up from the fields, father; here’s a letter from our Pete,
And come to the front door, mother; here’s a letter from thy dear son.
Lo, ’tis autumn;
Lo where the fields, deeper green, yellower and redder,
Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages, with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind; 5