THE CHURCH BELL.

I. That old church bell is dear to me, When from its ancient tower Its silvery tones sound solemnly, To tell the service-hour; It seems as if it almost spoke The words of trustful prayer, And promised to the spirit broke With sin, a pardon there. II. I love it when it sadly tolls The knell of life departed, And gently murmurs sympathy To mourners broken-hearted; It whispers of a spirit passed From doubt and pain and care, And tells of heaven, and bids them hope To meet the lost one there. III. I love it when its merry peal Welcomes the coming day, And rouses me from peaceful sleep My gratitude to pay; It bids me pray for strength to do My daily duty given; To hope that each successive morn May find me nearer heaven. VI. Then dear is that old bell to me, And dear its merry peal; For ’tis a voice of sympathy With human woe and weal; Whether my heart with sadness sink, Or light with pleasure dance, It speaks to me in every tone Of Life’s significance.