The bells of St. Elizabeth’s ring out the hour:
the high voices, dedicated to certain saints,
ring first; the low, to sturdy others,
take up the call and bid us rise
and come away, away.
The rooster crowing in the friary yard
reminds us that we’ve strayed.
Here loveliness, like poppies, fades
and passes quite away.
Come, the bells of St. Elizabeth’s say.
Eternity signals in every hour,
bids us climb, and ring
this bright and one, eternal day.
By Thomas Ramey Watson ©1987