Who does not love the village bells,
Their cheerful peal, and solemn toll!
One of the rustic wedding tells,
And one bespeaks a parting soul.
The lark in sunshine sings his song,
And, dressed in garments white and gay,
The village lasses trip along,
For this is Susan's wedding-day.
Ah! gather flowers of sweetest hue,
Young violets from the bank's green side,
And on poor Mary's coffin strew,
For in the bloom of life she died.
So passes life! the smile, the tear,
Succeed, as in our path we stray,
Thy kingdom come, for we are here
As guests who tarry but a day.