The church bells sound tonight as they did in childhood. A vast lonely evening, with a tremendous overpowering melancholy; the child has vague remembrances of the terror of the Sunday School lesson of the morning in which fearful stress is put on the avenging wrath of God. There is the unnatural constraint of Sunday over the town. For the time the child forgets where his mother is; there came to him mutterable forebodings of times when all protecting friends will be gone; the cricket chorus comes from black depths; the air opens up into a vast cavern, which the mournful bell swells larger and larger; the sky is about to fall he is facing a vast valley.
Charles E. Burchfield, October 3, 1920