JOY-BELLS
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ing your sweet bells; but let them be farewellsTo the green-vista'd gladness of the pastThat changed us into soldiers; swing your bellsTo a joyful chime; but let it be the last. What means this metal in windy belfries hungWhen guns are all our need? Dissolve these bellsWhose tones are tuned for peace: with martial tongueLet them cry doom and storm the sun with shells. Bells are like fierce-browed prelates who proclaimThat "if our Lord returned He'd fight for us."So let our bells and bishops do the same,Shoulder to shoulder with the motor-bus.
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