The Path Too Fair

The Path Too Fair

 

The tenor bell is ringing

In the bistered hand of day,

And I am standing on the steps

Above the little cay, that slips

Beneath the fishing pier

And drops into the deep,

To which my mind

Has wandered

In its loves,

 

So long asleep

 

It rings from out a tower

 Near a park some blocks away,

 

And in its staid recital,

I am pleased to hear it play

 

I sense in it an unshed tear

That it was meant to wake,

And in a swell of sentiment,

My heart begins to break

 

It seems as if a thing I dreamed

That moved me long ago

Whose purpose then

I could not guess

 

And value did not know

 

It bids me down a path too fair,

A way too dear to dare, for I am old

And cannot risk the beauty that is there

 

 

Yet I will share a thought with you,

That I fear to advance �" It is that though

We have but love, love lives our full expanse

We are the Master’s vibrant paint,

The face, both fresh and dear �"

 

The essence of a miracle

That gives us meaning here

 

We are the goodly masterpiece,

The logos in the art - the noble hand

That lifts a lamp within the tender heart

 

We are the waking of a mind, the scribblings in a tome �"

The looking back upon the bay, as we are going home

 

Nostalgia is more than a tear we gather and recast;

It is the pith of all we love, both now and in the past

It is the joy and every pain, that we in wonder hear

Upon the sounding of a bell, when God to us is near

 

I pass the tower on my way, and silently it stands,

 

And I am mulling how its clock

Is round with moving hands�"

 

I hear a bell that rings within; I hear a bell that chimes

Upon the reading of a poem that echoes, as it rhymes.[1]