The Bells! Their tongues are loosed. The charm of the mystic circle has made them animate, Has lifted the enchantment of silence And given sound to their joy. In the tower above the young men, (So near, unseen,) They shout till the rafters ring; A revel of frank, untrammeled spirits, Like innocent children with clear, full voices, Merry, unrestrained, irresponsible. A somersaulting group of eight, Praises God in mirth. Still farther above, High in the vault of the church, Revealed in ethereal, vibrating overtones, Like the whirring of great wings, The heavenly choir chanting Te Deum Join in the song; The Angels of the Bells, Tender intermediaries between earth and heaven, Breathing holy gladness, singing ineffable praise. Above, above again, Far above the pointed spire, Above the seething city and the sinning world, Above the singing in the hearts of men, The clamor of bells, the choiring of angels— Silence. The eternal harmony of all sound, The caught-up commingled praises of creation, Blended into quiet, The Silence that is God: God listening; God approving; God the Father of Joy, Blessing His angels and His bells, Blessing the ringers with rapt faces, Tense, devotional, Who consummate the ritual of sound In a religious office. Eight young men In a mystic circle, Whose center is the center of the universe, God. SONG OF THE BOOKWORM Who would long for wings to wander Over sea or mountains yonder? Who would hang on risky pinion, And become the breezes’ minion, When the spirit, birdlike, hovers, Borne between two leathern covers? These are wings a fay might sigh for, Or a chubby cherub cry for! So the dusty Bookworm quivers Into life; the cocoon shivers, Bursts into a world of glory, Borne on tinted wings of story, Poesy, romance or fairy— Wings of book-leaves thin and airy; Floats and flutters off, away, To Avonside or far Cathay. There is no land so strange, so far, From pole to pole, from star to star, But he may visit passage free, No duty, fare or grudging fee. Hey for Egypt! Ho for Arden! Mowgli’s jungle, Omar’s garden! None shall limit, none can stay, When the Bookworm flits away!