The bells they sound on BredonAnd still the steeples hum."Come all to church, good people," —Oh, noisy bells, be dumb;I hear you, I will come.
'Tis Summer Time on Bredon,And now the farmers swear:The cattle rise and listenIn valleys far and near,And blush at what they hear.But when the mists in autumnOn Bredon top are thick,And happy hymns of farmersGo up from fold and rick,The cattle then are sick.hugh kingsmill
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