The Church Bells

The Viennese authorities have melted down the great bell in St.

Stephen's to supply metal for guns or muntions.

Every poor village has made a similar gift.—Lokal Anzeiger.

The great bell booms across the town,   Reverberant and slow,

And drifting from their houses down   The calm-eyed people go.

Their feet fall on the portal stones   Their fathers' fathers trod;

And still the bell, with reverent tones,

From cottage nooks and purple thrones   Is calling souls to God.

The chapel bells with ardor spake   Above the poplars tall,

And perfumed Sabbath seemed to wake.   Responsive to their call From dappled vale and green hillside   And nestling village hives The peasants came in simple pride To hear how their Lord Jesus died   To sweeten all their lives.

They boom beyond the battered town;   The hills are belching smoke;

And valleys charred and ranges brown   Are quaking 'neath the stroke.

The iron roar to Heaven swells,    And domes and steeples nod;

Through cities vast and ferny dells And village streets the clamant bells   Are calling souls to God!