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Show The Old Mission Bells. Up on the grand Sierras the shadows come and go, And the bells of old San Gabriel are ringing here below. In the footsteps of the padres we paute, and faintly trace Their footsteps in the valley, as (her went from pla-e to place. We see the sainhy Serra, tired and worn and" pale. Treading the narrow pathway . on the old Mission trail. Unmindful of the rhuuows, or ot the noonday heat, H2 plods along the valley, oft mounding mound-ing weary feet. And the mystic night comes stealing a3 the padre wends' his way. A warm dusk hide the valley, the mountain peaks are gr-ty. We pause to gaze for a little space over this hallowed, sacred plice; And the bells ring out, as the sun goes down, over the foothills, bare and brown. The crimson flush has faded from Sierra's massive brow. And the sweet tones of the Angelus are softly ringi lg now. We recall the days of romance, of Spanish song and tale. As the bells of Did San Gabriel ring: cut across the vale. We see ethe gay s nora and Spanish maiden fair. And the haughty renorita, with blossoms blos-soms in her hair, And sweeping down the hillside comes a stately cavalcade. The air is filled with perfume, as the orange blossoms fade. And the bells' sweet music, mystic floats in from the silent past, And in the twilight shadows blends softly with the blast, The radiant light has vanished over the mountains gray; And the bells of old San Gabriel toll out the parting day. Kathryn Wallace. |
