Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/51

50 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.