Hark! hark, my Soul! The Bells do ring,

And with a louder voice

Call many Families to sing

His publick Praises, and rejoice:

Their shriller Sound doth wound the Air,

Their grosser Strokes affect the Ear,

That we might thither all repair

And more Divine ones hear.

If lifeless Earth

Can make such Mirth,

What then shall Souls abov the starry Sphere!

Bells are but Clay that men refine

And rais from duller Ore;

Yet now, as if they were divine,

They call whole Cities to adore;

Exalted into Steeples they

Disperse their Sound, and from on high

Chime-in our Souls; they ev'ry way

Speak to us throu the Sky:

Their iron Tongues

Do utter Songs,

And shall our stony Hearts make no Reply!

From darker Mines and earthy Caves

At last let Souls awake,

And leaving their obscurer Graves

From lifeless Bells example take;

Lifted abov all earthly Cares,

Let them (like these) rais'd up on high,

Forsaking all the baser Wares

Of dull Mortality,

His Praises sing,

Tunably ring,

In a less Distance from the peaceful Sky.