Ringing! ringing! ringing as they rang
⁠⁠⁠Long, long ago!
With echoing peal and merry clang
⁠⁠⁠They come and go!
The children have played and sung, and laughed and wept,
And then grown old, and laid them down and slept;
And still, as the hours onward flow,
The bells are ringing for joy or woe!

Singing! chiming! pealing! — such a song
⁠⁠⁠Of joy and mirth!
Waking up echoes slumbering long
⁠⁠⁠Within the earth, —
Telling their tale of love, and hope, and happy days, —
From hill to valley the glad song they raise.
And still, as the hours come and go,
The bells are ringing for joy or woe!

Swinging sadly, solemnly, a mournful tone,
⁠⁠⁠Telling of death!
Of sorrowful hearts, that must wander alone
⁠⁠⁠On this weary earth;
Of silent forms, and hands that lie at rest,
Of voices forever hushed in a passionless breast;
While the changing hours come and go,
And the bells are ringing for joy or woe!

Softly rising and falling, at eventide
⁠⁠⁠Ring out the bells,
O'er the golden valleys far and wide
⁠⁠⁠Their music swells.
And the children stop in their play, and stand to hear,
And the aged look up with a quiet smile and a tear,
As they think of the hours that come and go,
While the bells are ringing for joy or woe!

Ringing! ringing! ringing, in the still night,
⁠⁠⁠A joyful chime!
While the land lies sleeping, robed in white,
⁠⁠⁠At Christmas time, —
Telling, with fresh sweet tones, the glad old story,
Bringing a faint, soft echo from the land of glory!
While the changing hours come and go,
And the bells are ringing for joy or woe!

Ringing! ringing! ringing, o'er the city
⁠⁠⁠With its mighty throng!
Soothing some hearts, all sad and weary,
⁠⁠⁠With their happy song.
Rising above the sin and sorrow, want and care,
Above the sounds of strife that fill the air;
And still, as the hours come and go,
The bells are ringing for joy or woe!

Ringing! ringing! ringing! recalling fast
⁠⁠⁠Old days gone by;
Unlocking the fair, green shadowy past
⁠⁠⁠To memory's eye.
Telling of high resolve, — of longings noble, free,
Of golden moments gone by unheedingly!
Of the changing hours that come and go, —
Of their ever ringing for joy or woe!

Ringing! ringing! ringing! still ring on,
⁠⁠⁠O old church bells!
With tender pathos to each living one.
⁠⁠⁠Your music tells
That beauty, wealth, and joy must fade and die,
That man must spend his days as for eternity,
Where the changing hours will cease to flow,
Where 'tis never ringing for joy or woe!

Some drag their heaven down to earth
⁠Some raise it to the skies,
Some think they share its holy mirth,
⁠Before the body dies.
But what the time and what the place,
⁠This much at least is known,
That we shall see Him face to face,
⁠And know as we are known.

Some hope to "touch the vanished hand,"
⁠Complete the broken aim;
Some but around the throne to stand,
⁠And magnify His name.
I only know a silent space
⁠Between me and my own,
Since they have met Him face to face,
⁠And know as they are known.

Some fear to meet His dreadful eye,
⁠To hear His awful word;
Some on his bosom long to lie,
⁠And pant to meet their Lord.
I know, — how vast must be his grace,
⁠How pure must I have grown,
Ere I can see him face to face,
⁠And know as I am known.

Alas, poor weed! The careless tide
⁠Has left thee with his lightest foam;
And now a desert drear and wide
⁠Divides thee from thy wished-for home.
His flow may bear thee back once more,
But canst thou live thy life of yore?

Alas, I, too, am left awhile
⁠By her I love, in lightest play!
On distant loves I see her smile,
⁠I hear her laughter far away.
Her heart may turn to me again,
But can my heart forget the pain?