THE REAL

The leaf is faded, and decayed the flower,
The birds have ceased to sing in wayside bower,
The babbling brook is silenced by the cold,
And hill and vale the frost and snow enfold.
The life we see seems hasting to the tomb
Nor sun, nor star, relieves the dismal gloom;
The good man suffers with the base and vile,
And honesty and truth give place to guile.

Things are not always as they seem to be;
The outer surface only man may see.
The summer sleeps beneath the quilt of snow,
Behind the clouds is hid the solar glow,
The babbling brook will burst its icy bands,
And birds will sing, and trees will clap their hands.
The fallen leaf has left a bud behind,
And flowers will bloom of brightest hue and kind;
For when we look beneath the outward crust
With vision clear, and free from worldly lust,
We will behold a brighter world than this,
With less of curse and much of noble bliss;
For God's kind hand in all our conflicts here
Is clearly seen and doubts must disappear;
The end He has in view is most benign;
The fire will dross consume and gold refine.

VICTORY GAINED AND LIFE LOST

As fought the Paladins of old,
With gleaming swords and spirit bold,
To thwart the schemes of base Lothar,
Give France to Karl in holy war,
So would we battle for the right,
Tho' we may perish in the fight.

Our trusty blade, not made of steel,
While wounding deep, doth also heal;
With this, and clad in Christian mail,
The hosts of sin we would assail,
To gain the world for Christ, tho' we
Should fall while shouting victory!

THE BAPTISM OF CLOVIS

Five hundred years have nearly passed away
Since that glad morn, when o'er fair Bethl'hem's plain
A light resplendent as the glow of day,
Shone down from heaven, and holy angels deign
To sing the sweetest song e'er heard by mortal ear,
Which fills sad hearts with joy and drives away their fear.

Clovis, of the brave Franks, the king, and sheen,
Heard from Aurelian of a maid to wed,
Matchless in feature, and of graceful mein--
"Zenobia, of the Alps," Aurelian said,
"The daughter of Chilperic, the Burgundian king,
Clotilda is her name; fair maids her praises sing.

"She dwells among the Alps, in forest glade,
And by the shore of its most famous lake;
But fairer than that land is this fair maid;
And brighter than its peaks at morn's awake;
A Christian girl is she, whose heart God has renewed,
And her fine, comely mind with grace a