Who does not love the village-bells?
The cheerful peal, and solemn toll?
One, of the rustic wedding tells,
And one, bespeaks a parting soul.
The lark in sunshine sings his song,
And dress'd in garments white and gay,
The village lasses trip along,
For this is Susan's wedding-day.
Ah! gather flow'rs of sweetest hue,
Young violets, from the bank's green side,
And on poor Mary's coffin strew,
For in the bloom of youth she died.
So passes life!—the smile, the tear,
Succeed, as on our path we stray,
Thy "kingdom come!" for we are here,
"As guests who tarry but a day."