Softly the loud peal dies,
In passing winds it drowns,
But breathes, like perfect joys,
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Softly the loud peal dies,
In passing winds it drowns,
But breathes, like perfect joys,
Tender tones.

Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells
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Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden notes,
And all in tune
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens while she gloats
On the moon!

These bells have been anointed,
And baptized with holy water!

These bells have been anointed,
And baptized with holy water!

Ring out, will bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light.

Ring out, will bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light.

It cometh into court and pleads the cause
Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws;
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It cometh into court and pleads the cause
Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws;
And this shall make, in every Christian clime,
The bell of Atri famous for all time.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

Bells call others, but themselves enter not into the Church.

Bells call others, but themselves enter not into the Church.

Hear the sledges with the bells,
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
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Hear the sledges with the bells,
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night,
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the Heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
From the jingling and the tingling of the bells.

The vesper bell from far
That seems to mourn for the expiring day.

The vesper bell from far
That seems to mourn for the expiring day.

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers ran by two, by three;
"Pull, if ye read more

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers ran by two, by three;
"Pull, if ye never pulled before;
Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he.
"Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells!
Ply all your changes, all your swells,
Play uppe The Brides of Enderby."