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Show Across the Fields Afar. I listen to tho Sunday bells Across tho Ileitis afar, Beyond the din of city and Tho roaring of tho car; Anil cv'ry echo falling soft, It calls nio back again To shady lanes and sunny, meads Of valley and of plain. I see tho quiet peoplo stroll. And hear their passing feet, Again I see tho little clmrch That fronts the village street, Tho quaint old pews they beckon mo, Tho pulpit overhead. And o'en tho marulo stones abovo My own beloved dead. Again In fancy leaning there, Within tho corner pew, I look upon tho fnces of Tho old time friends and true. I hear tho lowly murmurs of Tho softly whispered prayer; Again I sco the pastor with His crown of silver hair. Tho lilac bushes laden with Sweet censers, they distil Perfume and shower petals on Tho shady window sill. And Oh. tho echoes softly fall On valley and on plain! And Oh, tho bells they call mo to Tho llttlo church again! Horace Seymour Keller In Now York Sun. |
