SABBATH BELLS.—IMPROMPTU.
Reading edition
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BY WILLIS G. CLARK.
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Sweet Sabbath! to my ear,
Thy bells, with mingling tone,
Tell of the distant and the dear
In yon far blue unknown.
Of happier days they tell,
When o’er the vernal ground,
Fairer than Ocean’s richest shell,
Young Nature breathed around:
When Hope, as at a shrine,
To Fancy poured her lay,
And hues, inspiring and divine,
Painted the live-long day.
Sweet bells! They have a voice,
Lost to the usual air,
Which bids the sorrowing heart rejoice,
Though life no more be fair.
Though dust to dust has gone,
They speak of brighter hours,
When Memory, as from a throne,
Surveyed her paths of flowers.
Of sunny spots, where Love
Unfurled his purple wings,
And filled the spirit and the grove
With glorious offerings!