Chapter LXXXI

I knew from earth it must arise;
’Tis always Sunday in the skies,
And save on earth, there is no where
That spirits need a call to prayer.
The bells, the bells, the same old chime!
It brought me back to childhood’s time;
I saw the gray old church’s towers,
The ivied porch, the funeral flowers,
And smelt the very scent they flung,
So full of joy, when I was young!
I heard the organ’s swell once more,
Through window-arch and portal pour,
While throng’d the villagers to pray,
In groups along the rustic way,
And saw, the shadow’d walk adown,
The dear old rector’s reverend gown.