Boca Chimes [Poem]

By A.D. Russell

In the air there is a chiming, stealing far from out the west,
Where the crimson sun is sinking, o'er the mountains to his rest.
Oft, at eve, I hear that chiming, solemn, silvery, dying fast;
'Tis as from some Chapel hidden 'mid these Bocas wild and vast.
Chime, chime, chime ! God is Eternity, the world is Time !

Oft, at eve, I've sought that chiming ; sought it by the lone sea shore,
'Mong the islets and the reaches, where the seabird hovers o'er;
'Mid the ebb- and 'mid the flow-tide, 'mid the remous' rune-like moan,
Till my heart is sick with longing, and my eyes are weary grown.
Chime, chime, chime ! God is Eternity, the world is Time!

Somewhere, somewhere that fair Chapel hidden lies from mortal ken,
In an elder world of wonder, for a race of sinless men ;
And they kneel in the old arches, young and old, and evermore
Rises up the rich, undoubting, simple faith of days of yore.
Chime, chime, chime ! God is Eternity, the world is Time!

Might I find it, might I enter, kneel within its hallowed shrine,
Lave me at its mossy fountain, it might calm this heart of mine;
Still the anguish, still the grieving, heal all sorrow, cleanse all sin . . .
But the Way is deep in shadow, and the Light is all within.
Chime, chime, chime ! God is Eternity, the world is Time!


Somebody, I forget who, entertained us one day with a
vague tradition, said to exist among the fisher people, about
voices being heard in the Second Boca.

Men's voices. Young men's, I think, the idea was.

Certainly no women's.

Scribbler takes a hold of this, and of course spoils it. He
must have a mixed congregation, or the Child would be dis-
pleased. He deliberately sacrifices what might have been a
sort of Parsifal Legend. Yes, sacrifices it. For surely the
natural thing would have been to introduce Papa Teteron
and his sons as Cenobites, leading a mysterious life like
Amfortas, or whatever his name was, and his sons.

But no, Scribbler always knew better than anyone else.

SOURCE: Legends of the Bocas, Trinidad. By A.D. Russell, London: Cecil Palmer, 1922. pp. 25-26
"Patria est communis omnium parens" - Our native land is the common parent of us all. Keep it beautiful, make it even more so.

Blessed is all of creation
Blessed be my beautiful people
Blessed be the day of our awakening
Blessed is my country
Blessed are her patient hills.

Mweh ka allay!