Classic Poem

Toll the bell, 'tis Sabbath even;
Let it echo through the air,
Like a voice from yon blue heaven
Calling to the house of prayer.

Speaking gently to our hearts,
Calmly does its cadence fall;
Softly, softly it imparts
Joy, and peace, and love to all!

Toll the bell, then, sweetly, slowly,
Through the still and solemn hour:
Let the lofty and the lowly
Share alike its soothing power.

Toll the bell, 'tis Sabbath even,
And I would I could reveal
All the longings through me driven,
All the fancies that I feel:—

Longings all too deep to utter—
Thoughts that never can be told,
Save in an imperfect mutter,
Feeble, passionless, and cold!

Oh, my heart is well-nigh bursting
With the thoughts I cannot speak,
And my soul is thirsting, thirsting,
For the joys I dare not seek.

Could I, could I e'er inherit
Pens of poets passed away,—
Could I have their brain and spirit
Dwelling in me night and day—

Then would I pour forth my numbers
Through the atmosphere of Time,
Like that bell which wakes men's slumbers
With its sweet and soothing chime!

Toll the bell, 'tis Sabbath even;
Let it echo through the air,
Like a voice from yon blue heaven
Calling to the house of prayer!