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The chimes of England, how they


From tower and Gothic pile,

Where hymn and swelling anthem fill The dim cathedral aisle ;

Where windows bathe the holy light

On prieftly heads that falls,

And ftain the florid tracery

Of banner-dighted walls!

And then, those Eafter bells, in Spring,

Those glorious Easter chimes!

How loyally they hail thee round,

Old Queen of holy times!

From hill to hill, like sentinels,

Responfively they cry,

And fing the rifing of the Lord,

From vale to mountain high.

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