Here you will find the Poem New England Sabbath Bells of poet Frances Ellen Watkins
Methinks I hear those tuneful chimes, Borne on the breath of morn, Proclaiming to the silent world Another Sabbath born. With solemn sound they echo through The stilly summer air, Winning the heart of wayward man Unto the house of prayer! New England's sweet church-going bells, Their memory's very dear; And oft in dreams we seem to hear Them ringing loud and clear. Again we see the village-spire Pointing toward the skies; And hear our reverend pastor tell Of life that never dies! We see him moving down the aisle, In light subdued and dim; The while the organ's swelling notes Chant forth the grateful hymn. The forms of those our childhood knew, By meadow, grove and hill, Are gathering round with kindly looks, As if they loved us still! In careless hours of gladsome youth, 'Twas our thrice-blessed lot, To dwell upon New England's shores, Where God is not forgot. Where temples to his name are raised, And where, on bended knee, The Christian sends to heavenly courts The worship of the free! New England's Sabbath chimes!--we love Upon those words to dwell; They fall upon our spirits with A sweetly-soothing spell, Bringing to mind those brighter days When hope beamed on our way, And life seemed to our souls but one Pure and unclouded day! New England's Sabbath bells!--when last We heard their merry chime, The air was rife with pleasant sounds; For 'twas the glad spring-time! The robin to those tuneful peals Poured forth a thrilling strain; O, 'tis our dearest hope to hear Those Sabbath bells again! For now we're many a weary mile From that New England home; In lands where laughing summer lies, Our wandering footsteps roam. But yet those sweetly-chiming bells Those heavenward-pointing spires, Awaken e'er the brightest glow From memory's vestal-fires.