Читать книгу Second Book of Verse - Field Eugene - Страница 13

WHAT though the radiant thoroughfare

Teems with a noisy throng?

What though men bandy everywhere

The ribald jest and song?

Over the din of oaths and cries

Broodeth a wondrous calm,

And mid that solemn stillness rise

The bells of Notre Dame.

"Heed not, dear Lord," they seem to say,

"Thy weak and erring child;

And thou, O gentle Mother, pray

That God be reconciled;

And on mankind, O Christ, our King,

Pour out Thy gracious balm," —

'Tis thus they plead and thus they sing,

Those bells of Notre Dame.

And so, methinks, God, bending down

To ken the things of earth,

Heeds not the mockery of the town

Or cries of ribald mirth;

For ever soundeth in His ears

A penitential psalm, —

'T is thy angelic voice He hears,

O bells of Notre Dame!

Plead on, O bells, that thy sweet voice

May still forever be

An intercession to rejoice

Benign divinity;

And that thy tuneful grace may fall

Like dew, a quickening balm,

Upon the arid hearts of all,

O bells of Notre Dame!