Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1886-07-02
ONLY an Old Bell.

From the Bdin6ridge (GG.) Democrat.
Yes, only an old bell-but around it
clusters the memories of many years
This bell hung for thirty-siX years in the
little cupola of the old Methodist church,
and the more pretending steeple of the
present house of worship in this city. 1t
hangs there no more, and never again will
its soft, tremulous notes culver upon the
air summ0ning the children of dead
generation to the house of God. The
iconoclastic hand OF so-called progress has
ruthlessly stif1ed its voice, and torn the
old bell down to make way for another
whose brazen lungs are more in conso-
nance with this age OF brass.
For thirty-siX years the tintinabula-
tions of the old bell have been heard
marking the time tor devotion; and, at in
tervals, pealing forth the mellow, golden
notes for weddings; and, again, the mel
ancholy tolling OF the funeral bell, giving
notice of some poor souls departure TO
heaven or to hell. In the long ago. before
the blasting hand OF war was laid upon
our fair land, when all was peace, plenty
and prosperity. the old bell summoned
prince, pauper and slave alike to Gods
service.
When the war came the bell rang the
patriots into arms, and while its sounds
were not yet dying amid the echoes, they
marched of to victory, glory, defeat and
death. During four years it sounded out
a gush of delightful euphony when victory
perched upon our banners, and when
freedom seemed within our very grasp
and then as disaster and wreck followed,
with what sad and shIVering music did its
tones awake the silence of the night.
And ali! as the poor, weary, careworn
soldier. as he stood the quiet watches of
picket duty, or lay him down TO rest upon
the field of carnage after the battle. how
his thoughts and his cart few back home
ward, to the mother, wife, sweetheart
and other dear ones, and to the little
white church with its old graveyard, al
uncovered by spreading oaks; and how
IN his fancy or his dreams ne heard the
sweet, welcome, tremulOus voice of the
old bell. All would he ever hear that
voice again? Or would he be swallowed
up n the whirlpool of battle, never to see
or hear those idols o. mis- heart again2
Alas! how many ne'er came back. They
went to unknown graves in cold and
bloody shrouds; thence to flames eter-
nal camping ground"
Years nave passed since the dark days
Of war. Time, which changes all things,
had not yet put its deiorming touch upon
the old church bell, and its tones were
just the same when II played its own fu-
neral dirge two weeks ago as when they
first fell fresh upon the generation now
in the grave. IL may and will be said
that our old friend belongs to past age.
Perhaps so. That 1t stood in the way OF
progress; that it was not "loud' enough;
that some of the people even could not
hear it. 1t was loud enough for thousands
Of the best folks that ever lived, and none
are SO deaf as those who will not hear.
But the old belPs voice is not hushed.
II now stands sentinel on little African
church near the town graveyard, where
it sings perpetual dIrge for the
dead II tolled to rest. Oddly strange it
seems, but the times are sadly out of
Joint.