Tinmouth's Bells

Long before my time, folks toiled by the hour.

Putting the big bell in the old church tower.

It rang through the years leaving it’s mark on the trees,

In the far end of the valley it could be heard on the breeze.

Down in the Channel, standing by the water,

A deer would stop and listen, so would fox and otter.

High on Tinmouth Mountain and old bear walks along,

Stopping every Sunday morning to listen to the song.

It touches all the critters and their spirits within,

If only for that moment, they all felt akin.

Now folks are all different on the outside of the skin,

But God says we’re all the same somewhere deep within.

In a small town like Tinmouth your neighbor’s your friend,

And most folk are looking for a chance to pitch in.

When the Old Bell rang on Sunday and people started to pray

Rouleau’s old donkey would sure enough start to bray.

Some went to church when the Old Bell sand it’s song,

Others stayed home or couldn’t come along.

It rang happy after weddings and everyone wished them well,

They sang and danced at the sound of the bell.

It rang a sad note when someone passes away,

We all stopped to listen and in our hearts we each would pray.

Now a bell is a symbol, it has no mind of it’s own,

It just sits there quiet if we leave it along.

So let this new bell ring and sound out with force,

The animals all know it, the trees told them of corse.

Let this bell bring us together in the things that we do,

Helping at the firehouse of building onto the school.

This bell’s sound is pure when it rings from the tower,

Let our bell’s ring from within with caring each hour.

So when we hear the bell ring, turn to your neighbor and say,

“Been meaning to tell you, ‘Have a nice day’!