To a Lady, LXXXI

I knew from earth it must arise; ’Tis always Sunday in the skies, And save on earth, there is no where That spirits need a call to prayer. The bells, the bells, the same old chime! It brought me back to childhood’s time; I saw the gray old church’s towers, The ivied porch, the funeral flowers, And smelt the very scent they flung, So full of joy, when I was young! I heard the organ’s swell once more, Through window-arch and portal pour, While throng’d the villagers to pray, In groups along the rustic way, And saw, the shadow’d walk adown, The dear old rector’s reverend gown.