76
POEMS BY CLARA A. MERRILL
Would fall.—(Oh! all-wise Father— By thy supernal power Revert the pending danger Ere falls the fatal hour!
Ah! why?—our hearts may question,— Ye mortals!—none can tell! 'Tis meet, on Him relying Who doeth all things well.)—
Once more the bells' sweet music From all the belfrys rang; Bidding the folk to gather For worship.—Praise they sang.
And as they turned their footsteps— Each toward his wonted church; All was serene and peaceful As far as eye could search.
But hark! What meant the tumult Arising in yon street—And why disperse those people With swiftly hurrying feet?—
