Then Clovis, by Aurelian, sent a ring To this fair damsel, whom he hoped to wed; She took the ring; and soon fair songsters sing The marriage hymn, as he to altar led This lovely Christian maid. They plight their nuptial vows; And the old priest invoked a blessing on their brows. Then on her head a coronet was placed, And she sat down by Clovis on his throne; And never was a throne so highly graced, Nor ever monarch felt less sad and lone; He found in her a bride, and counsellor, as well, And happy are the men who in her palace dwell. In tones of eloquence and words of power, The wond'rous story of the cross she told; Christ's lowly birth, pure life, and of the hour When He, to bring us to the heavenly fold, Bore on the cross our sins, and opened mercy's door, Then from the dead arose to reign for evermore. Soon on Tolbiac's bloody field the king Led on his troops against a mighty foe; A foe too strong; for soon, though no weakling, Clovis retreats--his men returned no blow; But fled as timid sheep before a beast of prey; The conquering Alemanni will surely win the day. "O king! cry on Clotilda's Christ for aid!" Shouted Aurelian, as the monarch fled; Then, on his helmet, Clovis his hand laid, And lifting it, these words the monarch said: "My gods have failed to help: O Christ, Clotilda's God, Grant me Thy mighty aid, and I will kiss Thy rod." On the French pennons triumph perches now; The foe is routed by Clotilda's God; And Clovis wished to have upon his brow The symbol of her faith; for 'neath the rod Of the eternal King he bows his regal will, And waits, with heart devout, Christ's purpose to fulfil. On Rheims now dawns a cloudless Christmas morn; And flags of silk and satin grace each tower; This is the day Clotilda's Christ was born, And to His cause a great triumphal hour, For see, on carpet stretched from church to palace door, A grand procession march, of two-score priests or more! Remigius had led the way, and then, Assisted by his priests, on monarch's brow, And on the brows of full six thousand men, As they before the holy altar bow; The water from the font he sprinkled down like rain, Thankful that his blest Lord so many hearts should gain. THE WATER LILY This lovely lily, so pure and white, Seems covered o'er with celestial light; As if it grew on the "Tree of Life," And not down here, in this world of strife; Too pure for earth it now seems to be; My queenly wife, it was meant for thee. Its wax-like petals with graceful bend, Drink in the sunbeams as they descend; And lade with fragrance the heated air As it floats around us everywhere; And the world grows better by its advent, This lovely lily, so kindly sent. It rested once on its crystal bed; Neither wind, nor wave, occasioned dread; Admired by all as they passed it by, Though the contrast oft produced a sigh; In purer soil than affords this earth This lovely lily must have had its birth.