by Luis G. Dato

Come, dear, the bells have rung for early mass,
And now awake, for you’ll perhaps be late,
Too long a time to dress I cannot wait,
The altar’s lighted, golden minutes pass.
The old and young, and rural swain and lass
Have heard God call, ‘tis also call of fate,
(Mother of God,” their prayer, “where is my mate?”)
The sky’s not always blue, e’er green the grass.

Nor youth stand still, and time is truly gold,
We have but precious little time to stay,
Not as stones live, but by and by grow old,
It is not for all time a summer day,
Therefore, O dear, awake! the bells have bold,
To church for mass we must be now away.

— November 28, 1965

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