I Heard The Bells On

Sit In Reverie And Watch The Changing Color Of The Waves That Break Upon The Idle Seashore Of The Mind.

Time Rides With The Old At A Great Pace. As Travellers On Swift Steeds See The Near Landscape Fly And Flow Behind Them, While The Remoter Fields And Dim Horizons Go With Them, And Seem Wheeling Round To Meet Them, So In Old Age Things Near Us Slip Away, And Distant Things Go With Us.

Then Stars Arise, And The Night Is Holy.

The Holiest Of Holidays Are Those Kept By Ourselves In Silence And Apart; The Secret Anniversaries Of The Heart.

Ah, The Souls Of Those That Die Are But Sunbeams Lifted Higher.