Page:Poems Clark.djvu/50

And when in the peace of the churchyard
 They had laid the dead brother to rest,
With the birds and the flowers and the sunshine,
 And the cross on his pulseless breast,

There grew from his grave a tall lily
 Wonderfully pure and rare,
With "Ave Maria" in letters of gold
 On each one of its petals fair.

And the monks were filled with wonder,
 And they opened the grave to seek
Why the glorious flower should honour
 A soul that had seemed so weak.

There they read a love-writ answer
 With a hushed and glad surprise,—
The lily grew from the dead man's lips,—
 His words wrapped in heavenly guise.

And so because of this lily—
 This robe of a heartfelt prayer—
And of dear old Saint Eustachius,
 One day of each year is fair,

With a memory sweet and fadeless,
 Of the saint so meekly true,
And the flower that told the story,
 Of the only prayer he knew.

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