Bells Of St. Michael Poem by Mary Weston Fordham

Come and listen to the chiming
Of St. Michael's merry bells,
When the joyous Christmas morning,
All of Bethlehem's story tells.
When they sweetly chime the anthem
'Glory to be to God on high,'
When the children swell the chorus,
Earth to heaven seems very nigh.

On the gladsome Easter morning,
When the earliest flow'rets bloom,
Snowdrops pure and violets purple
Blend to scatter sweet perfume;
Then your happiest notes are poured forth,
Then your Jubilee is heard,
Pealing out in joyful accents,
Chiming, 'God is very good.'

From that ancient lofty turret,
O'erlooking land and sea,
Peals of comfort have been wafted,
Sounds of gladness o'er the lea.
Many a storm-tost, weary wanderer
Looked to thee as hope's bright star,
Listened to thy mellow chiming,
Smiling as he crossed the bar.

Ah! old bells, beneath your tolling,
Many a form lies buried low,
'Neath the green-sward of 'God's Acre,'
Rest they, all their sorrows o'er.
Softly wave the bending willows,
Sweetly sing the birds their lays,
Whilst thy dear old bells are clanging,
They are singing hymns of praise.

Dear old bells your music thrills me,
Whether rung in joy or woe,
They recall the joyous spring time
Of fond mem'ry's 'long age.'
Sweetly chime through all the ages;
As time's cycles swiftly move;
Peal forth loudly, God is gracious;
Whisper softly, He is love.