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THE SAINTED QUEEN.

BY REV. WM. THAYER.

LOUD rang the welkin dome at morn,
And swift as lightning lance
The royal welcome, welcome flew

O'er hill and dale of France.
Around the bridal altar pressed
The nation's sparkling pride;
The changeful crimson came and went,
Like shadows, o'er the bride;
The king held fast, as if a pearl,
The marble hand of the royal girl.

Strange contrast in the wedded pair!
The bride, in summer bower,
Bloomed into youth, as suns unfold
The petals of a flower;

The bridegroom from the throne of Kent,
Of proud old Saxon form,

Reared, like the Druid's mistletoe,

'Neath clouds and sweeping storm; Won by the magic power of love, The eagle caught the gentle dove.

So stood the Saxon Ethelbert;

His costume marked his life; Himself a Pagan worshipper,A saint his angel-wife;

Strange two such adverse hearts should meet, The wedded race to run!

Strange two opposing streams of life

Should mingle into one!

Had Bertha hope that she could bring
To Cross of Christ the Pagan king?

Roll on, ye chariot-wheels of time,
Beneath the royal smile!

No queen drank deeper draught of bliss
On Britain's sunny isle;

Her orisons went up to God,

At morn and eventide ;

His richest benison came down
In answer to the bride:

The Spirit left the throne to bring

Salvation to the Saxon king.

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