A SOUND comes to the barefoot boy
Across the pasture, o'er the hill, —
That future memories shall enjoy,
Be what he may, go where he will: —
He hears the cow-bell far away
That tinkles while the cattle browse;
However far their feet may stray,
It tells him where to find the cows.

A poor boy grown a millionaire,
With naught on earth he may not buy;
While pomp and splendor shed their giare,
Still nothing seems to satisfy.
All kinds of bells he owns and rings
That commerce and the world employs,
Yet nothing but the cow-bell brings
His soul back to the barefoot joys.

The hardened culprit in his cell
E'en at the church chime gives a sneer;
But some one clangs an old cow-bell
And to his eye there comes a tear.
He 's back in gentle childhood now,
A mother's hand has stroked his hair,
Her pardoning kiss is on his brow,
And from his soul there comes a prayer.

Not much of a bell
Where city folks dwell,
Nor much on the tone
When ringing alone,
But for taking you back to the old farm scenes,
Back into childhood beyond the teens,
It knocks all others to smithereens —
That old cow-bell.