The Chimes of England

The Chimes, the chimes of Motherland, Of England green and old, That out from fane and ivied tower A thousand years have tolled; How glorious must their music be As breaks the hallowed day, And calleth with a seraph’s voice A nation up to pray! Those chimes that tell a thousand tales, Sweet tales of olden time; And ring a thousand memories At vesper, and at prime! At bridal and at burial, For cottager and king, Those chimes, those glorious Christian chimes, How blessedly they ring! Those chimes, those chimes of Motherland, Upon a Christmas morn, Outbreaking as the angels did, For a Redeemer born! How merrily they call afar, To cot and baron’s hall, With holly decked and mistletoe, To keep the festival! The chimes of England, how they peal From tower and Gothic pile, Where hymn and swelling anthem fill The dim cathedral aisle; Where windows bathe the holy light On priestly heads that falls, And stains the florid tracery Of banner-dighted walls! And then, those Easter bells, in spring, Those glorious Easter chimes! How loyally they hail thee round, Old Queen of holy times! From hill to hill like sentinels, Responsively they cry, And sing the rising of the Lord, From vale to mountain high. I love ye, chimes of Motherland, With all this soul of mine, And bless the Lord that I am sprung Of good old English line: And like a son I sing the lay That England’s glory tells; For she is lovely to the Lord, For you, ye Christian bells! And heir of her historic fame, Though far away my birth, Thee, too, I love, my Forest-land, The joy of all the earth; For thine thy mother’s voice shall be, And here, where God is king, With English chimes, from Christian spires, The wilderness shall ring.