The Song Of The Bells.

He frowned and shook his snowy head.          "Those clanging bells! they deafen quite         With their unmeaning song," he said.          "I'm weary of it all to-night -         The gladness, sadness. I'm so old          I have no sympathy to spare,         My heart has grown so hard and cold,          So full of self, I do not care         How many laugh, or long, or grieve         In all the world this Christmas eve.         "There was a time long, long ago -          They take our best, the passing years -         For the old life, and faith, and glow.          I'd give - what's on my cheek? Not tears!         I have a whim. To-night I'll spend          Till eyes turn on me gratefully -         An old man's whim, just to pretend          That he is what he used to be;         For this one night, not want nor pain          Shall look to me for help in vain."         "A foolish whim!" he muttered oft,          The while he gave to those in need;         But strangely warm and strangely soft          His old face grew, for self and greed         Slipped from him. Ah, it made him glow          To hear the blessing, thanks, the prayer.         He looked into his heart, and lo!          The old-time faith and love were there.         "Ring out, old bells, right gladly ring!"         He said, "Full sweet the song you sing."