Fountain’s Abbey

ALAS, alas! those ancient towers,
Where never now the vespers ring,
But lonely at the midnight hours
Flits by the bat on dusky wing.

No more beneath the moonlight dim,
No more beneath the planet ray,
Those arches echo with the hymn
That bears life’s meaner cares away.

No more within some cloistered cell,
With windows of the sculptured stone,
By sign of cross and sound of bell,
The world-worn heart can beat alone.

How needful some such tranquil place,
Let many a weary one attest,
Who turns from life’s impatient race,
And asks for nothing but for rest.

How many, too heart-sick to roam
Still longer o’er the troubled wave,
Would thankful turn to such a home,—
A home already half a grave.