SWEET Astley bells! your distant chime, So tuneful, yet so sad, Recalls my childhood's earliest time: I sigh, and yet am glad. My thoughts return, on swift unsteady wings, Along the trodden path whose misty light Revealed dim visions of unspoken things, Passing, yet bright. Oh, years have glided by so fast, That twenty-one have almost past, And now those softened bells, With wondrous spells, Have called the solemn train of by-gone times Back from Eternity's mysterious chimes. They come, a fearful crowd, And gaze with spectral eyes; Before this witness cloud My spirit silent lies: No sound is there, yet strange wild echoes thrill The inmost caverns of my soul, where all seemed waste and still. Scenes arise before me Fairer than the light, Visions hover o'er me Darker than the night; While my spirit haileth Those with fond delight, Yet at these it quaileth, Shrouded in affright. For the past years press me closer round, And I cannot bear their gaze; With a brazen fetter I am bound, While their deep reproachful voices sound And their piercing eyebeams blaze. They speak of thoughtless words and wasted hours, Of hopes forgotten, resolutions broken; Their breath recalls once bright, now faded flowers, Their tones bring back the words which sainted lips have spoken. Again is heard that spirit-wakening bell; Each stroke is branding deep my heavy heart, Like some inevitable knell, Saying, 'Thou too must soon depart.' And 'tis a knell! My youth is past, That very chime hath told me so! This year hath been the last, the last; My spring is gone, I know! The sound hath melted o'er the hill, And all is still! Again the peal is ringing, Like angel voices singing,— 'May there not be A summer yet for thee? Without the chilling frosts of spring, Without the piercing wind, Without the yet unclothèd spray, These thou hast left behind! What though the rainbow fade away? The light which gave it birth Is still the same; and e'en the cloud May bless the thirsty earth. What though the blossom fall and die? The flower is not the root: A summer's sun may ripen yet The Master's pleasant fruit. What though by many a sinful fall Thy garments be defiled? A Saviour's blood can cleanse them all; Fear not, thou art His child! Arise! to follow in His track, His lowly ones to cheer; And on an upward path, look back With every brightening year. Arise! and on thy future way His blessing with thee be, His presence be thy staff and stay Till thou His glory see. What though thy heart distrust thy strength? The way may not be long, And He will bring thee home at length To learn His own new song.' Sweet Astley bells! your distant chime, So tuneful, though so sad, Speaks of a holier, happier time: I sigh, and yet am glad. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DEATH IN THE DESERT by ROBERT BROWNING THE BOATMAN by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI AGAMEMNON: HELEN. CHORUS by AESCHYLUS SPRING'S UNFOLDING by IRENE ARCHER KINGFISHER by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE STREAMS by FRANCES BROWN (1816-1864) TWO MOUNTAINS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |