Alabama, ipi 3. 23 



THE BELLS. 



♦#♦ 



'Tis Sabbath morn, 

 And clang of bells awake the countryside, 



The seventh day hath dawned — the toiling world 

 Rests peaceful with the soothing tide. 



The wings of morn resound with melody, 

 Borne o'er the rural scene in tuneful murmur, 



Some pride-filled urchin grasps the hempen strand 

 That swings the copper bell in some rude belfry tower. 



Arise ye now, 

 Partake of humble fare, gift of thy tilling, 



Ye rustic folks now gather round the spread — 

 Tranquility doth reign while souls are filling. 



Fruitful the day in calm content. 

 E'en Nature seems attuned to solemn chord, 



Rest now your limbs, O modest swain, 

 That on the morrow thou may heap the golden hoard. 



Clang on, O bells, 

 Send forth thy anthems through the land, 



Peal on and on unceasingly — 

 That all may join the lowly band. 



— Robert Page Lincoln. 



