SAINT EUSTACHIUS
In a book of wonderful legends,
Very queer and quaint and old,
Is the tale of Saint Eustachius,
That mayhap has seldom been told.
Very queer and quaint and old,
Is the tale of Saint Eustachius,
That mayhap has seldom been told.
Splendor watched over his cradle,
Grand and high rose his castle walls,
Ever brave was he at the tourney,
And gay in the banquet halls.
Grand and high rose his castle walls,
Ever brave was he at the tourney,
And gay in the banquet halls.
Till his very soul grew aweary
Of even the sweetness of life,
And he sought in the cell of the convent,
Release from its tumult and strife.
Of even the sweetness of life,
And he sought in the cell of the convent,
Release from its tumult and strife.
But no wisdom had he of letters,
No knowledge of book or pen,
And the only prayer of his saying,
Over and over again,
No knowledge of book or pen,
And the only prayer of his saying,
Over and over again,
Was the beautiful "Ave Maria,"
Evening and morning and noon,
Till his heart seemed a sweet toned organ,
Ever playing one reverent tune.
Evening and morning and noon,
Till his heart seemed a sweet toned organ,
Ever playing one reverent tune.
When he passed, the prayer of his lifetime
Rose soft with his fleeting breath,
And "Ave Maria" filled his chamber,
As the sweet benediction of death.
Rose soft with his fleeting breath,
And "Ave Maria" filled his chamber,
As the sweet benediction of death.
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