Tintagel bells ring o’er the tide: The boy leans on his vessel’s side; He hears that sound, and dreams of home Soothe the wild orphan of the foam. “Come to thy God in time!” Thus saith their pealing chime: “Youth, manhood, old age, past, Come to thy God at last!” But why are Bottreaux’s echoes still? Her tower stands proudly on the hill: Yet the strange chough that home hath found, The lamb lies sleeping on the ground. “Come to thy God in time!” Should be her answering chime. “Come to thy God at last!” Should echo on the blast. The ship rode down with courses free, The daughter of a distant sea: Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored, The merry Bottreaux bells on board. “Come to thy God in time!” Rang out Tintagel chime. “Youth, manhood, old age, past, Come to thy God at last!” The pilot heard his native bells Hang on the breeze in fitful swells. “Thank God!” with reverent brow he cried: “We make the shore with evening’s tide.” “Come to thy God in time!” It was his marriage-chime. Youth, manhood, old age, past, His bell must ring at last. Thank God, thou whining knave, on land! But thank at sea, the steersman’s hand, The captain’s voice above the gale, Thank the good ship and ready sail. “Come to thy God in time!” Sad grew the boding chime, “Come to thy God at last!” Boomed heavy on the blast. Up rose that sea, as if it heard The mighty Master’s signal word. What thrills the captain’s whitening lip? The death-groans of his sinking ship! “Come to thy God in time!” Swung deep the funeral chime. “Grace, mercy, kindness, past, Come to thy God at last!” Long did the rescued pilot tell, When grey hairs o’er his forehead fell,— While those around would hear and weep,— That fearful judgment of the deep. “Come to thy God in time!” He read his native chime: Youth, manhood, old age, past, His bell rung out at last!