THE VIRGIN OF ST. MARK'S.6(The Sacristan's Story.)
Hid in a secret recess
Of our most holy shrine,
St. Mark's, the pride of Venice,
Is a picture all divine,—
The Virgin and infant Jesus
St. Luke, enraptured, wrought,
And Dandolo, the mighty Doge,
Home from Byzantium brought;
Not the Madonna of the wall—
That sad, enshrouded star—
But the gem the Cæesars bore afield
In their imperial car!
Her eyes have the tint of olives;
Her brow is fair as wheat;
And her snowy veil and violet robe
Fall chastely to her feet,
As on the beaming, beauteous Babe
She smiles celestial-sweet.
Of our most holy shrine,
St. Mark's, the pride of Venice,
Is a picture all divine,—
The Virgin and infant Jesus
St. Luke, enraptured, wrought,
And Dandolo, the mighty Doge,
Home from Byzantium brought;
Not the Madonna of the wall—
That sad, enshrouded star—
But the gem the Cæesars bore afield
In their imperial car!
Her eyes have the tint of olives;
Her brow is fair as wheat;
And her snowy veil and violet robe
Fall chastely to her feet,
As on the beaming, beauteous Babe
She smiles celestial-sweet.
The Turks—a shameless, godless horde
Doomed to eternal fire—
Doomed to eternal fire—
