Poets' Corner.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume IV, Issue 207, 23 March 1877, Page 3

Poets' Corner.

,TBE OLD BELL-RINGER. BT MABT CECIL HAT. The old Cathedral white and silent lies, Its slender towers pointing to the skies, Crowned on each pinnacle with heav*nly light. The moon looks down and smiles her silver smile. Touching the world to loveliness the while ; Tet breathing such a silence from her height That we could fancy even an angel's tread No holier calm upon the air could shed Than this sweet silence of the moonlit night. 'Twas on this day, just thirty years ago. And all the hind lay warm beneath the snow. (See, higher still the shadows softly steal!) They laid my darling in her narrow bed, ' While I upon its brink felt cold and dead, Bearing a sorrow which no time could heal, (For a few moments with my weakness bear, I scarce to-night can cross the snowy square. Though I must join you in your midnight peal !) Remember P I remember it so well, Each tiny snowflake kissed her, as it fell Upon the lowly mound that stood alone j For hourly I dumbly knelt, but could not pray. And then I turned and went my weary way — Missing the hand that used to clasp my own. Missing the dear face ever at my side ; I had but her in all the world so wide ! What wonder that my heart seemed turned to stone P That night the old year died. Some one had said That I — whose cne ewe lamb lay still and dead — Should ring the birthday chime of the New Year. So, from my loneliness, I rose and came — Would not my grief be everywhere the same ?—? — Ah ! you remember now. So full and clear The joyous chime flew on the frosty air ! You wonder I your laughter did not share. How could you guess this was my wordless prayer, And that I knew at last my God could hear P Alone and still, her grave lay far below, Covered so softly by the quiet snow, Covered so gently for her last repose ; But — far above — she dwelt in whiter dress. In brighter joy and purer loveliness ; And tow'rds this home our happy peal arose. What wonder I could lift my eyes at last ? And — lifting them — the darkest hour seemed past— I'm coming, friends ! — How dim the moonlight grow*. Just thirty times , with every new-born year, Have I been one among the ringers here, And now each tone has grown into a friend, A faithful friend whose happy voice I love, The friend who bore my first weak prayer above. In that great grief my Father chose to send. Now my last peal some lonely heart shall cheer, And then though dying with the dying year — I shall have borne His message to the end. — • Pilot'