CURFEW'S GOOD-NIGHT PEAL.
Copyright, 1890, by Chas. W. Held.
Words by Wm. D. Hall. Music by Fred Silva.
When my truant fancy strays to my childhood's happy days,
I can see the things with which I used to play;
All my toy-sheep in their pen, and my little soldier-men
Watching o'er them that they cannot go astray.
Each night my spelling blocks were secreted in a box,
And their hiding-place to none would I reveal;
Then into my crib I'd creep, but ne'er would I go to sleep
Till I heard the sounds of Curfew's good-night peal.
It was my sole delight to hear those strains each night,
Ringing from the chapel's belfry high;
My mind cannot embrace other thoughts to take the place
Of that old familiar wordless lullaby.
Those fond toys still faithful stand, waiting for a little hand
To release them from a coat of aged dust,
All those sheep within that pen still obey those soldier-men;
But, alas! from age they now are red with rust.
I used to watch and wait till the sunshine would abate,
Knowing that the day o'er western hills would steal;
Then I'd close my drowsy eyes to my mother's lullabies,
And those precious sounds of Curfew's good-night peal.-Chorus
In a shadowy design, I can see those things divine,
As I muse at times in silence most profound;
And as dying rays of light disappear into the night,
How I long to hear that old familiar sound.
I think of pleasant dreams, of rare and gorgeous themes,
And of kisses which each night my lips did seal;
Also of that voice so grand which sang me to slumber land,
'Midst the merry sounds of Curfew's good-night peal.-Chorus.