Gleams of Sunshine Part 5

The armies met on Marston Moor, 'Midst lightning's flash and thunder's roar; As murky clouds sweep o'er the sky, G.o.d's cannonade with man's will vie.

The Royalists in phalanx strong, By fiery Rupert led along, From Bolton's cruel ma.s.sacre Towards York, in hope to keep it free From the Roundheads at any cost.

"If York be lost, my crown is lost"-- Wrote Charles to this trusted chief, And he must bring it prompt relief.

The foe's true strength he did not know, But dazzled much by victory's glow He hoped with ease to overthrow The untrained volunteers; Nor did he for brave Cromwell care, Tho' he had asked "is Cromwell there?"

Would not his grenadiers Scatter those yeomen to their fields, To hold their ploughs instead of shields?

Thus confident of great success He asked his chaplain now to bless From G.o.d's own word their going out, And seemed to hear the victor's shout, While from the ranks of Roundheads rose Triumphant hymns, ere came the blows.

Now Rupert madly dashes out, "_G.o.d and the King!_" his battle shout; Charges the parliamentary ranks In centre, heedless of the flanks, Defeats Lord Fairfax and Leven, Scatters like leaves their untrained men.

Remorselessly he hewed them down, And chased their leaders far from town.

But Cromwell kept his men restrained Till Rupert thought the victory gained.

His eye was all ablaze with fire, And burned his soul with righteous ire; Then sharp and pa.s.sionate came the cry, "_Charge, in the name of the Most High!_"

His features now most clearly show A strange, enthusiastic glow.

With zeal he wraps himself about, And fires men's hearts with glance and shout.

"For G.o.d and king," is Rupert's cry.

"_For truth and peace we dare to die!_"

Shouts Cromwell, all the lines along, Which holds as with a mighty thong Th' immortal hosts of Puritans, While on them fall the Royal bans.

As Roundheads, Rupert them derides; Not Roundheads now, but _Ironsides_.

The heavens were black, the storm still raged, As tho' with earth a war it waged, But raged a fiercer war just then, Not forces blind, but men with men; For two score thousand men were there; And booming cannon rent the air.

The Cavaliers were scattered wide, Brought to the dust their haughty pride; Across the beanfield Rupert fled, His standard gone, his garments red; His men by many hundreds turned To ask for mercy, nor were spurned; While he left all and to York sped, Heedless of stores, or Royal dead.

To Cromwell's swords as stubble they, And _Truth and Peace_ had gained the day.

OIL THE CRICKET

"Mamma, what noises do I hear?

They keep me wide awake."

"The chirping crickets, little dear; What funny noise they make!"

"Yes, ma, but touch their tongues with oil, To take the squeak away; For soon it will their voices spoil, To squeak thus night and day."

Well done, my little girl of three; 'Twould tune our speaking gear To utter sweeter melody For your attentive ear,

If it were oiled a little, too, For harsh too oft its tones; Though formed to thrill with pleasure true, It gives forth shrieks and groans,

Which fall discordant on the ear, And budding pleasures spoil, And speaking gear, likewise I fear; So bring along the oil.

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 l.u.s.t, We will behold a brighter world than this, With less of curse and much of n.o.ble bliss; For G.o.d'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 a.s.sail, To gain the world for Christ, tho' we Should fall while shouting victory!

THE BAPTISM OF CLOVIS

Five hundred years have nearly pa.s.sed 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-- "Zen.o.bia, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 G.o.d has renewed, And her fine, comely mind with grace and truth embued."

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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 G.o.ds have failed to help: O Christ, Clotilda's G.o.d, 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 G.o.d; 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, a.s.sisted 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