Sad escort are these tones that mourn

To one on life's last journey borne.

Ah, it is the wife beloved!

Ah, it is the faithful mother,

Whom the Shades' dark prince doth wrest
From a doting husband's breast,

From the group of children, whom

She bore him in her early bloom,
Whom she beheld with mother's pride
Grow up and flourish by her side!
Ah, rent is that sweet bond of home,
And never can again be knit !
For in the Shadow-land she dwells,
Whose love maternal ordered it.
No more her gentle sway is known,

No more her wakeful care and pains;
Within those widowed chambers lone
A stranger, hard and loveless, reigns.
Till the bell cools down, we now
From our anxious toil may rest.
Free as happy bird on bough,
Each may do as likes him best.
At set of sun,

His duty done,

The 'prentice hears the vesper toll,

But rest there is none for the master's soul.

The wanderer, far in the forest wild,

Quickens his pace, as he hears it knell,

To the cottage home, that he loves so well.

The sheep draw homeward bleating,

And the cattle, trooping in,

Broad of forehead, sleek of skin,

Lowing loud, as evening falls,

Fill their old accustomed stalls.

The creaking wain

Staggers in with its load of grain ;

See on the sheaves

The chaplet lie,

Bright with flowers

Of every dye!

And off to the dance the young reapers fly.
Market and street grow hushed and still;
Round lamp's and hearth-fire's social flame

The houses' inmates gather,

And grating harsh the town-gate shuts.

Earth shrouds her then

In black; but night

To the citizen

Brings no affright,

Night, that from their darkling den,
Rouses the wicked, their prowl to make;
For the eye of Law is ever awake.

Holy Order, with every kind

Of blessing fraught, who like doth bind
To like by ties, gall not nor fray,
Who did of towns the foundations lay,
And into them from wood and wild
The savage, that shuns his kind, beguiled;
Entered the hovels of men, and taught
The virtues by gentle manners wrought,
And wove, of all ties the dearest, pride
In the land where our forefathers died.

Industrious hands, their labours plying,
Work on in friendly league, and so,
Each in his craft with other vying,

Their powers to higher achievement grow.
To guard fair freedom's sacred treasure,
Master and man their force unite,
Each in his station finds his pleasure,
And pays the scorner slight for slight.
Toil is the burgher's crown of merit,

His guerdon some true blessing won;
Kings from the state which they inherit
Take honour, we from the things we've done.

Oh, blessed peace,

Oh, Concord sweet,

Hover, oh hover,

With kindly sway,

Over this town of ours, I pray!

Oh, may it never dawn, the day,

When grim War's ruthless crew

Shall riot this calm valley through!

When the heavens, which evening's mellow red

Colours with hues so fair,

Are all aflame with the ghastly glare

Of blazing towns, and the havoc dread

Of villages burning there!

Now, break me down the walls there!

In our work have done their part—
That our successful casting may
Rejoice both eye and heart.

Smite, stroke on stroke,

Till the cover's broke !

They

Ere the bell can rise from the pit below,
The mould must into pieces go.

The master may, when all is ready,
Shatter the mould, for sage is he,
But woe betide, if in fiery eddy

The hot ore is by itself set free.
With thunderous crash, blind-raging, from its
Ruptured cell, it bursts in flame,

And fiery wreck and ruin vomits,

As though from the jaws of hell it came.
Where brute force rules, unchecked by brains,
Form cannot be, mere chaos reigns;

When the populace breaks from restraint away,
Alas for their weal on that woful day!

Woe, when in cities, smouldering under,
Fire spreads and spreads with silent force,
And the people, tearing their chains asunder,
In self-deliverance seek recourse.
Then, tumult tugging the ropes, the bell
Peals on the ear like some madman's yell,
And what was vowed only to peaceful things
To ravage and rapine the summons rings.

Liberty and Equality! High

Through street and alley swells the cry!
The peaceful citizen flies to arms,

With gathering crowds street, market swarms,
And ruffian bands, that erst shunned the day,
Come trooping about, as they scent their prey.
Then women turn to hyenas there,

And make of horrors a scoff, a jest,

And rend with panther-teeth and tear.

The heart yet warm from some hated breast.

Nothing is sacred more; flung loose

Is every tie of restraint and shame;

The Good gives place to the Bad, and all
The Vices run riot, uncurbed by blame.
To rouse the lion in jungle bedded

Is perilous, fell is the tiger's tooth,

But of all dread things to be chiefly dreaded

Is man, divested of reason and ruth.

Woe to those, who hand light's heaven-sent torch
To the purblind fool! Its kindly ray
Is no light for him, it can only scorch,
And cities and countries in ashes lay.

God unto me great joy has given.
Behold! Like any golden star,
From its shell the metal kernel riven
Shows clean and smooth, not a flaw to mar.
From crown to rim it gleams,

Bright as the bright sun's beams;

The scutcheons, clear and sharp also,

The skill of the hand that limned them show.

Now, comrades all, this way, this way

Close up your ranks, that so we may
Baptise and consecrate the Bell.

Its name shall be CONCORDIA !

Let her to all our townsmen say,

"In unity and loving concord dwell

And this be the vocation still,

The Master framed her to fulfil!

y!

With heaven's blue canopy above her,
High o'er our toils and struggles here,
Shall she, the thunder's neighbour, hover,
And border on the starry sphere;
A voice she shall be from above,
Even like the shining starry throng,
That, moving, praise their Maker's love,
And lead the circling year along.
To solemn things, and only such,
Let her metallic music chime,
And let her, swiftly swinging, touch,
Each hour, the flying skirts of time!
Let her to fate an utterance lend,
Herself without a heart to feel,

And on life's change and chance attend
With evermore recurring peal.

And, as the clang dies out, that, riding
Far on the breezes, loudly boomed,
So may she teach, nought is abiding,
All things of earth to death are doomed.

Now tackle to the ropes and prise
The bell up from the pit, that so
She to the realm of sound may rise,

High up aloft, where the breezes blow!
Pull, pull, lads! See,

She waves, swings free!

Joy to our town may this portend,

PEACE the first message be she forth shall send?

THEODORE MARTIN.