Those Evening Bells

Those evening bells, those evening bells.
How many a tale their music tells.
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time.
When last I heard their soothing chime.

Those joyous hours are passed away;
And many a heart that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells.

And so ‘twill be when I am gone:
That Tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards will walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.



The Builders

All are architects of Fate,
Working in there walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Noting useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our todays and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen…
Build today, then strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall tomorrow find its place.




The Arrow And The Song

I shot an arrow into the air -
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For so swiftly t flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into air -
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong?

Long, long, afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroken;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.