No 3 UPON A SUNDAY MORNING

1 Upon a Sunday morning, when Spring was in its prime, Along the Church-lane tripping, I heard the Church-bells chime, And there encountered Reuben, astride upon the stile, He blocked the way, so saucy, upon his lips a smile. 2 Upon a Sunday morning, there came a rush of bells, The wind was music-laden, in changeful fall and swells; He would not let me over, he held, he made me stay, And promise I would meet him again at close of day. 3 Upon a Sunday evening, the ringers in the tower, Were practising their changes, they rang for full an hour; And Reuben by me walking, would never let me go, Until a Yes I answered, he would not take a No. 4 Again a Sunday morning, and Reuben stands by me, Not now in lane, but chancel, where all the folks may see. A golden ring he offers, as to his side I cling, O happy Sunday morning, for us the Church-bells ring.