Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells,

In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron bells!

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,

How we shiver with affright

At the melancholy menace of their tone!

For every sound that floats

From the rust within their throats

Is a groan.

And the people-ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,

And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,

Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:

And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls

A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells

With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the paean of the bells-
Of the bells:

Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,

To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells—

To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells!

THE BIBLE

-Edgar Allan Poe

Holy Bible, Book Divine

OLY Bible, book divine,

HOLY

Precious treasure, thou art mine;

Mine to tell me whence I came,

Mine to teach me what I am.

Mine to chide me when I rove,
Mine to show a Saviour's love;
Mine art thou to guide my feet,
Mine to judge, condemn, acquit.

Mine to comfort in distress,
If the Holy Spirit bless;
Mine to show by living faith
Man can triumph over death.

Mine to tell of joys to come,
And the rebel sinner's doom;
Holy Bible, book divine,

Precious treasure, thou art mine.

-John Burton

Sir Walter Scott's Tribute

The great Sir Walter Scott wrote:

7ITHIN this awful volume lies

"W

The mystery of mysteries:
Happiest they of human race,

To whom their God has given grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, to force the way;
But better had they ne'er been born,
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn."

My Mother's Bible

THIS

THIS Book is all that's left me now-
Tears will unbidden start;

With faltering lip and throbbing brow
I press it to my heart.

For many generations past
Here is our family tree:

My mother's hands this Bible clasped,
She, dying, gave it me.

Ah! well do I remember those

Whose names these records bear;
Who round the hearthstone used to close
After the evening prayer,

And speak of what these pages said
In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still!

My father read this holy Book

To brothers, sisters, dear:

How calm was my poor mother's look,
Who loved God's Word to hear!
Her angel face-I see it yet!

What thronging memories come!

Again the little group is met
Within the halls of home!

The truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I've tried;

When all were false, I found thee true,

My counselor and guide.

The mines of earth no treasures give

That could this volume buy;

In teaching me the way to live,

It taught me how to die!

-George P. Morris

A Home Without a Bible 1

WHAT

(Abridged)

HAT is home without a Bible?
'Tis a home where day is night,
Starless night, for o'er life's pathway
Heaven can shed no kindly light.

What is home without a Bible?
"Tis a home where daily bread

For the body is provided,

But the soul is never fed.

What is home without a Bible?
'Tis a family out at sea,
Compass lost and rudder broken,
Drifting, drifting, thoughtlessly.

MERRIL

Near to the nest of his little dame,

Over the mountain-side or mead,

Copyright by Charles D. Meigs. Used by permission of Meigs Publishing Co., Indianapolis.

From "Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant." By special permission of D. Appleton & Company.