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All the bells of heaven may ring, All the birds of heaven may sing, All the wells on earth may spring, All the winds on earth may bring All sweet sounds together; Sweeter far than all things heard, Hand of harper, tone of bird, Sound of woods at sundawn stirred, Welling water's winsome word, Wind in warm, wan weather. One thing yet there is that none Hearing, ere its chime be done Knows not well the sweetest one Heard of man beneath the sun, Hoped in heaven hereafter; Soft and strong and loud and light, Very sound of very light, Heard from morning's rosiest height, When the soul of all delight Fills a child's clear laughter. Golden bells of welcome rolled Never forth such note, nor told Hours so blithe in tones so bold, As the radiant month of gold Here that rings forth heaven. If the golden-crested wren Were a nightingale—why, then Something seen and heard of men Might be half as sweet as when Laughs a child of seven. |