THE BURNING OF THE TURNER MILL
75
Bright spires, ever gleaming From tall majestic domes Like sentinels seemed guarding The scores of happy homes.
A picture fair and lovely The landscape lay that morn,—As tho' by seraph painted Upon the wings of dawn.
**********
The first chimes from the steeples Rang out in accents clear; And like accordant music Fell on the listening ear.—
As yet no note of sorrow Was mingled in their tone; They seemed like benedictions Descending from the Throne.
No thought had the good people Of shadows hovering near—No thought that ere the noon-tide Full many a bitter tear
