Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail
The sky hurled its poems in naked wonder
That the echoes of the church bells blew far into the breeze
Leavin' only bells of lightning and its thunder
Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind
Striking for the guardians and protectors of the minds
And the poet and the painter, far beyond his rightful time
An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
-Bob Dylan, Chimes of Freedom