THE BURNING OF THE TURNER MILL
75
Bright spires, ever gleaming
From tall majestic domes
Like sentinels seemed guarding
The scores of happy homes.
From tall majestic domes
Like sentinels seemed guarding
The scores of happy homes.
A picture fair and lovely
The landscape lay that morn,—
As tho' by seraph painted
Upon the wings of dawn.
The landscape lay that morn,—
As tho' by seraph painted
Upon the wings of dawn.
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The first chimes from the steeples
Rang out in accents clear;
And like accordant music
Fell on the listening ear.—
Rang out in accents clear;
And like accordant music
Fell on the listening ear.—
As yet no note of sorrow
Was mingled in their tone;
They seemed like benedictions
Descending from the Throne.
Was mingled in their tone;
They seemed like benedictions
Descending from the Throne.
No thought had the good people
Of shadows hovering near—
No thought that ere the noon-tide
Full many a bitter tear
Of shadows hovering near—
No thought that ere the noon-tide
Full many a bitter tear
