A Sabbath morning so calm and still
The wind scarce wakens the sleeping flowers,
While lazily, daintily, sipping their sweets
The honeybees rifle the odorous bowers;
And the birds in the branches are as mute
And still as the chords of a broken lute.
Half hidden in vines a farmhouse stands
In peace and quiet this summer morn;
Around it stretch the fruitful lands,
Where stream the banners of growing corn,
And from its window looks forth a face
That adds a charm to the dear old place—
A girl’s face, lit with the hue of health,
And gemmed with eyes that melt and gleam,
As, dreamily humming a plaintive song,
She floats away in a girlish dream.
But hark! from the valley, with solemn swell,
There floats the sound of the old church bell.
– – – – – – – –
The years have come and the years have gone,
The cozy farmhouse has passed away,
And over the spot where the roses bloomed
The cattle wander from day to day;
Yet still o’er the place she loved so well
Floats the solemn chime of the old church bell.
Another sweet morning in summer time—
But Time o’er the weary years has leaped,
Bringing few joys to her aching heart;
Yet over her brows have his fingers crept—
A faded woman, whose hair is gray,
Listens with tears to the bells to-day.
But she beats no time to the sweet refrain,
For life has burdens her heart must bear.
Down the wasted cheeks flows a bitter rain,
From faded lips comes a broken prayer.
Bright is the sun and glad the day,
But the joy of her life has passed away.