Salt Lake City, Temple Square, Christmas time
(written about 1996)
The sweetest thing about a bell
is not the size or shape it is,
not the stuff of which it's made,
and not the note it rings;
The sweetest thing I like to tell
are the thoughts and memories it brings.
Reminding me of Santa's bells
I used to "hear" on Christmas eve,
the sound that's heard in childhood ears
because a child believes.
Reminding me of a clarion call
that's sounded o'er this continent
on more than one occasions' need,
the sound of freedom's sentiment.
Reminding me of bells that ring
to mark each hour passing by,
that through life's changes, turns, and bends,
my God and Savior still stand by.
Reminding me of ringing cheer;
that angels, on that holy morn,
to shepherds spoke, glad tidings gave
that Christ, our God and King was born!
The sweetest thing about a bell,
the story that I try to tell--
is how one rang, the silence broke,
and when I listened, something spoke:
from deep inside, so this I say:
Christ was born, and He lives today!
