Peal on, peal on,—I love to hearThe old church ding-dong soft and clear!The welcome sounds are doubly blestWith future hope and earthly rest.Yet were no calling changes foundTo spread their cheering echoes round,There's not a place where man may dwellBut he can hear a Sabbath bell.
Go to the woods, when Winter's songHowls like a famish'd wolf along;Or when the south winds scarcely turnThe light leaves of the trembling fern,—Although no cloister chimes ring there,The heart is call'd to faith and prayer;For all Creation's voices tellThe tidings of the Sabbath bell.
Go to the billows, let them pourIn gentle calm, or headlong roar;Let the vast ocean be thy home,Thou'lt find a God upon the foam;In rippling swell or stormy roll,The crystal waves shall wake thy soul;And thou shalt feel the hallow'd spellOf the wide water's Sabbath bell.
The lark upon his skyward way,The robin on the hedge-row spray,The bee within the wild thyme's bloom,The owl amid the cypress gloom,All sing in every varied toneA vesper to the Great Unknown;Above-below-one chorus swellsOf God's unnumber'd Sabbath bells.
