Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/51

That loves the path where faith doth rise
In contemplation to the skies,
Yet bowed beneath a hopeless chain
Betakes it to its task again;
                            What bids its rapture swell?
What brings, though tear-drops dim the eye,
Communion with its native sky?
                             The Sabbath Bell.

And thou, whose glance of rapid ray
Dost lightly scan this simple lay,
When to thy view yon astral spark,
And earthly skies and suns are dark,
What to the fair and lighted hall
Where cherished friends hold festival;
What to the pensive, listening ear,
                              Shall thy death-tidings tell?
And summon to thy lowly bier
The bursting sigh, the bitter tear?
                               The Sabbath Bell.