Wantage Bells

Lyrics

(Intro) And now I live in Wantage, which is a redbrick town, an old town at the foot of the Berkshire Downs, and where we have eight bells in the parish church, and the Anglican order Wantage Sisters live in the town in various buildings, and this poem is meant to be like the sound of eight bells on a Sunday morning (Poem) Now with the bells through the apple-bloom Sunday-ly sounding And the prayers of the nuns in their chapel gloom Where the brook flows Brick walls of rose Send on the motionless meadow the bell notes rebounding Wall-flowers are bright in their beds And their scent all pervading Withered are primroses' heads And the hyacinth fading But flowers by the score Multitudes more Weed flowers and seed flowers and mead flowers our paths are invading Where are the words to express Such a reckless bestowing? The voices of birds utter less Than the thanks we are owing Bell notes alone Ring praise of their own As clear as the weed-waving brook and as evenly flowing