The Church Bells

The Viennese authorities have melted down

the great bell in St. Stephen's to supply metal

for guns or muntions. Every poor village

has made a similar gift.—Lokal Anzeiger.

The great bell booms across the town,

  Reverberant and slow,

And drifting from their houses down

  The calm-eyed people go.

Their feet fall on the portal stones

  Their fathers' fathers trod;

And still the bell, with reverent tones,

From cottage nooks and purple thrones

  Is calling souls to God.

The chapel bells with ardor spake

  Above the poplars tall,

And perfumed Sabbath seemed to wake.

  Responsive to their call

From dappled vale and green hillside

  And nestling village hives

The peasants came in simple pride

To hear how their Lord Jesus died

  To sweeten all their lives.

They boom beyond the battered town;

  The hills are belching smoke;

And valleys charred and ranges brown

  Are quaking 'neath the stroke.

The iron roar to Heaven swells,

   And domes and steeples nod;

Through cities vast and ferny dells

And village streets the clamant bells

  Are calling souls to God!