And I often stop with the fear I feel,

He runs so close to the rapid wheel.

Whatever is rung on that noisy bell,

Chime of the hour or funeral knell,

The dove in the belfry must hear it well.

When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon,

When the sexton cheerily rings for noon,

When the clock strikes clear at morning light,

When the child is waked with “nine at night,”

When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air,