The Bell
We hear the bell to start the day,
And heavy lids on sleepy eyes
Chase fantasies and dreams away,
To overcome the sun's arise.
The bell rings out from out the tower,
To bring us to reality;
Its sonorous tones proclaim the hour,
We count their number sleepily.
In convents, churches, monasteries
The bell rings out three threes and nine.
At six and twelve and six again
To pray the Angelus divine.
The bells ring out in peals of joy.
As from the church to open air,
Come arm in arm, the girl and boy
Who promised each their lives to share,
The priest with candle, book and bell
Expels the unrepentant soul,
By excommunication tell
That he be stricken from the roll.
There comes the day the bell is tolled,
The Mass is said the body blessed;
And Christ will in his arms enfold,
To take the soul to final rest.
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The Seasons of Hope
I wonder if the wind will blow from the east,
When we rise in the Spring to a promising feast,
To welcome the buds as they gently unfold,
And my Rose of all flowers the queen.
I wonder if the wind will blow from the south,
With the heat of the sun like a furnace's mouth;
And the roses of June braving colours so bold,
In contrast with verdure green.
I wonder if the wind will blow from the west,
When Autumn is heralding Summer's bequest,
And the last rose of summer as in centuries old
Fades away, lacking lustre and sheen.
I wonder if the wind will blow from the north,
When the flurries of snowflakes come sallying forth;
And my loved one and I will bend to the cold,
Though inwardly warm and serene.
Let the wind blow its will, be it gale, be it light,
Let it blow itself out in the dark of the night;
Let the sky be dark azure or glorious gold,
There's no hope in a future foreseen.
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