St. Paul recorder. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1934-2000, 1941-07-11
LISTEN
TO
THIS
THE SABBATH BELL
By Hobart T. Mitchell

| 1890
pealing-insistently clear - and il
dawned upon her with wOnderment
that it was a church bell. At first
she was amused that in a metro
politan area of this size one would
think of hearing a church bell min
Cling with the clang of a busy city
or even striving to be heard over
various and numerous noises. Then
she was taken back to her child
heOd days when she was awakened
every Sunday morning by the ring
ing of the little village church bell.
On a sudden impulse she decided
to find from whence came the
sound.
She hurriedly went to the open
window of her ninth floor apart
ment to see if she could locate a
nearby church. All she could see
was well-cared, modern apartment
buildings and the nodding of a
large tree by the breeze in the dis
lance.
This girl was a modern, up-tO-
date, streamlined, creature - just
as modern and streamlined as her
apartment, her French curtains,
her kitchen utensils. Nature had
given her a body compared in
measurements with Venus de Milo
and the great Artist Himself had
splashed her countenance with a
permanent sm-tan. In a word of
today she had cit"
Why not take a walk for few
blocks; the exercise and the fresh
air would dc her good. Going into
her cedar-lined clothes closet she
emerged with a nice little number
doomed it-slapped her face here
and there with an diversified pow
derpuff-locked her door-rang for
the elevator and went out in the
glorious sunshine.
The church bells were ringing
again. They seemed to hypnotic
her and draw her nearer to them.
She began to walk in that direc-
ton. She walked five or six blocks
following the sound of the church
bells. All at once she found her.
self in a poorer section of the city
"a vastly different world from the
world from which she came.
The sound of the bells were near.
They seemed to be right here.
There it was-the little church
around the corner.
Nestled among the tenement
houses was this tiny church re-
sembling a miniature Cathedral
AngOuleme. The vines clinging to
the outer walls covered every avail
able space but the windows. The
stained-glass window panes glis-
tened - incOmprehensible in the
morning sun. The bell in the steeple
was now silent but it was still
swaying like the pendulum of a
grandfather clock.
The girl removed her hat to pay
tribute to the monument erected
in His honor and as she did so the
curls of her recent fnger-wave
danced around her head in mis-
chievous behavior. With hat in
hand she entered the edifice tiptoe-
ing to the rear seat and sat down.
A slow, painful flush crept over
her face. She felt shamed and
guilty. The truth was she did not
want to think how near she had
come to making a fool of herself.
Near her a few people were on
their knees in silent prayer. Won
dering not why they were kneeling
she knelt with them praying -
Lord make me good again.
Lord make me happy again.
| And if you can, Lord, make me
over again. ;"
Knowing not how long she had
prayed she arose and looked
around. The church was empty
deserted. Moving nOiselessly out
lest she disturb the serene atmOs.
phere, she made her way home.
ward-not home to her world, but
home to a better world in which
to live.