One bell rings from First Church.
The Revere bell rings out,
calling across common, town and wood.
One bell rings from First Church tower,
calling out, one bell, distant and plaintive,
rising and falling on the wind,
plain to me.
Counting time, counting forward, counting back,
one bell rings from First Church,
carrying time, carrying me, bearing me back.
Oh
beautiful sound,
turning
me from my desk,
turning
me from my task,
rolling
into my room above the ancient town,
calling
across open air, into this open dormer,
you
open a direct line from the cathedral tower.
From
the cathedral tower, the bells are
calling
falling ringing singing.
Calling
above the old town, the bells are
bringing
the morning, bringing their matins.
Ringing
above gray streets, gray walls, gray folk,
reaching
all, reaching me, the bells are
turning
gray to gold.
Ringing
ringing,
ye harmonies
hidden in the air,
you are
a standing ovation of angels
singing
on assignment, a posting from heaven to us,
announcing
your mysterious angelus.
Bestowing,
naming or knowing?
Perhaps
all, none or thus.
Ringing
in tune, each bell is
turning
spinning clapping laughing,
joining
in harmony, together creating
this standing
ovation of joy.
Assembling
in the air above the town,
pouring
into my ears, your sound is
standing
angelic in the air.
My music
teacher, you remind me
of heaven’s
harmonies in our world.
You
are here all along,
but I forget,
so I was sent
this
ringing reminder.
Oh
beautiful sound,
poured
into the bells by the master bell maker then,
you
are pouring your sound into my ears today.
Your
first pouring is still ringing ringing.
The
bell keeps ringing long after it was struck.
Now I
am struck by your sound,
calling
to me above the town,
ringing
on your direct line.
In
tune with yourself,
you
are in tune with the world.
You do
not need to be struck to ring.
You
ring,
bringing
gold to the gray town,
turning
me from my task.
Ringing
ringing,
oh
beautiful sound,
a bell
rings thus.
October 2015 North Andover, Mass.
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