Volume 32 / Part 4 — THE VESPER BELL.

BY PARK BENJAMIN.

How deep and mournfully at eve's sweet hour The bell for vespers chimes its holiest note, When the soft twilight lends its soothing power And on the air a silence seems to float! The weary wand'rer knows a home of rest, He toils not now who toiled the livelong day, Friends cherish fondest recollections, blest With thoughts of them whose love cannot decay, The best affections of the heart are told, We greet with joy our dear, domestic hearth, And think how strong the viewless bonds that hold Unwearied love to transient things of Earth. And visions of his lyre the poet sees At this lone time of Nature's sweet repose, When fancied music, borne on every breeze, Æolian-like, with thrilling sadness flows. Oh, then move thoughts, the holiest and best, O'er the soul's calm and mild serenity, Like beauteous birds that skim along the breast Of the still waters in some waveless sea. Where that deep bell sends forth its solemn tone, How many worship at Devotion's shrine! How many voices rise before the throne Whence the bright glories of the Godhead shine! Not when the glories of th' opening day With crimson blushes usher in the dawn, Not when the noontide pours its deepest ray On forest, glade, blue lake and emerald lawn; Not when the moonbeams shed their silvery light In richest lustre over copse and dell, Come sainted hopes, sweet dreams and fancies bright As when through shadows sounds the Vesper Bell.