A poem by Marietta Holley

When enwrapped in rosy pleasure,
Our careless pulses beat,
With a rhythm sweet, sweet,
To the music's merry measure.

When world waves rise around us,
With soft transparent weight,
Light in seeming, yet so great,
The liquid chains have bound us.

Then softly downward falling,
If we listen, we can hear,
From a purer atmosphere,
A warning and a calling.

'Tis not uttered to our ear,
To our spirit it is spoken,
In the wonderful, unbroken
Heavenly speech that spirits hear.

Strange and solemn doth it roll
Downward like a yearning cry,
From that belfry far on high,
Warning, calling to our soul.

Ever, ever, doth it roll,
Our angel guards the tower,
Ringing, ringing, every hour,
Warning, calling to our soul.

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