Verse > Anthologies > James and Mary Ford, eds. > Every Day in the Year
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James and Mary Ford, eds.  Every Day in the Year.  1902.
 
March 12
The Bells of San Blas
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)
 
(His last poem, written March 12, 1882)

WHAT say the Bells of San Blas
To the ships that southward pass
    From the harbor of Mazatlan?
To them it is nothing more
Than the sound of surf on the shore,        5
    Nothing more to master or man.
 
But to me, a dreamer of dreams,
To whom what is and what seems
    Are often one and the same,—
The bells of San Blas to me        10
Have a strange, wild melody,
    And are something more than a name.
 
For bells are the voice of the church;
They have tones that touch and search
    The hearts of young and old;        15
One sound to all, yet each
Lends a meaning to their speech,
    And the meaning is manifold.
 
They are the voice of the Past,
Of an age that is fading fast,        20
    Of a power austere and grand;
When the flag of Spain unfurled
Its folds o’er this western world,
    And the Priest was lord of the land.
 
The chapel that once looked down        25
On the little seaport town
    Has crumbled into the dust;
And on oaken beams below
The bells swing to and fro,
    And are green with mould and rust.        30
 
“Is, then, the old faith dead,”
They say, “and in its stead
    Is some new faith proclaimed,
That we are forced to remain
Naked to sun and rain,        35
    Unsheltered and ashamed?
 
“Once in our tower aloof
We rang over wall and roof
    Our warnings and our complaints;
And round about us there        40
The white doves filled the air,
    Like the white souls of the saints.
 
“The saints! Ah, have they grown
Forgetful of their own?
    Are they asleep, or dead,        45
That open to the sky
Their ruined Missions lie,
    No longer tenanted?
 
“Oh, bring us back once more
The vanished days of yore,        50
    When the world with faith was filled;
Bring back the fervid zeal,
The hearts of fire and steel,
    The hands that believe and build.
 
“Then from our tower again        55
We will send over land and main
    Our voices of command,
Like exiled kings who return
To their thrones, and the people learn
    That the Priest is lord of the land!”        60
 
O Bells of San Bias, in vain
Ye call back the Past again!
    The Past is deaf to your prayer:
Out of the shadows of night
The world rolls into light;        65
    It is daybreak everywhere.
 
 
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