What say the Bells of San Blas
To the ships that southward pass
  From the harbor of Mazatlan?
To them it is nothing more
Than the sound of surf on the shore,—
  Nothing more to master or man.
But to me, a dreamer of dreams,
To whom what is and what seems
  Are often one and the same,—
The Bells of San Blas to me
Have a strange, wild melody,
  And are something more than a name.
For bells are the voice of the church;
They have tones that touch and search
  The hearts of young and old;
One sound to all, yet each
Lends a meaning to their speech,
  And the meaning is manifold.
They are a voice of the Past,
Of an age that is fading fast,
  Of a power austere and grand,
When the flag of Spain unfurled
Its folds o'er this western world,
  And the Priest was lord of the land.
To the ships that southward pass
  From the harbor of Mazatlan?
To them it is nothing more
Than the sound of surf on the shore,—
  Nothing more to master or man.
But to me, a dreamer of dreams,
To whom what is and what seems
  Are often one and the same,—
The Bells of San Blas to me
Have a strange, wild melody,
  And are something more than a name.
For bells are the voice of the church;
They have tones that touch and search
  The hearts of young and old;
One sound to all, yet each
Lends a meaning to their speech,
  And the meaning is manifold.
They are a voice of the Past,
Of an age that is fading fast,
  Of a power austere and grand,
When the flag of Spain unfurled
Its folds o'er this western world,
  And the Priest was lord of the land.
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