The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1903-03-08

And Worshiped low the crimson East.
Where sat IN state Days POntif Priest.
o Rome, thou East, the Pontif Priestl
That sun among the starry kings
a glory Ger thy azure filings,
1 hat to the skies the wondering ewes
vi all adm1rlng nations brings.
Yes, to thy shores crowned pilgrims turn.
And for the smile of Leo yearn;
Or else at home they raise the bowl
and pledge their faith and plight their soul,
Adnlrlng eer the crimson court
That sits in Tiber's tempted port.
r And bow them to the Peaceful Pope.
Wide EurOpe's, cen the worlds lone hope.
They tell us of a golden day
In Eden's viceless wales,
When lions met meek lambs in pIav.
And vultureS, nightingales.
Now shout to Eden that her boast
Is far surpassed on Theirs coast.
Beneath this days fair, favored sun;
For 10! combined in Leo find
The lamb and lion joined in one.
And tell the pride of other kings
a strip OF land their bounty sings;
And measured by the mile their sway
That has It's morn, noon, eve, each day.
But Leo, King and Pontif grandl
Wherever move the human kind,
Wherever blows the wintry wind,
Meath Himalaya's highest peak,
By geld Greenland's icy creek, -
On ArCtiC'S stiff cerulean seas,
where blows tor months the binding breeze,
On RuSslas planes of f1eecy flakes,
On Africa's wastes of sandy lakes,
Or where the dukite trails its length,
Or Patagonlan wastes his strength
Meath every sun, IN every land,
Yours IS the right to rule, command;
For yours the Universal Monarch's robe,
Thy kingdom, Leo, is the globe!
What of a ducal coronet? go
VIII of an Earls bediamoned set?
What OF a Queens encircling band?
What Of a Kings as bright, as grand?
Before the great Tiara's sheen
Pale are these single circles fair;
And kings themselves before thee seen,
Must bend the knee and reverence there.
No borrowed glory, Leo thine,
For wheresoe'er thy throne may shine,
There Will we turn and bend the knee
For Rome is Rome because of theeI
Let others boast a line of blood
That, though the pasta royal blood
A crown has borne upon its wave,
a crown for which their children crave.
What if they trace their Wanted stream,
Twill end in some barbaric breast,
Whose heart impelled the sword to CLEAN
And bring to others deathly rest.
Not so, o Lion, but in name,
No so, for thee the mead Of fame;
One grand, unbroken, binding chain
OF hands in hands from Leo's reign,
Back through the ages that are past,
In glory stretches, stops at last
Where first it started, proud and free,
Upon the shores of Galilee.
And starts thy royal crimson tide
Fen from the Savior's wounded side;
And on its wave the triple crown
Is borne the bounding tide adOWn,
While meath, hidden from our view,
ChristS legacy Of thorns to you.
Gone, gone, proud Caesars prouder throne;
The Lombard lesser sleep hath known;
A lar1c rests beneath the wave;
Attila stirs not in his grave;
Great CarlOvingian blood no more
Rules Europe wide from shore to shore;
On Clos page alone doth reign
The Tartar tribe of Tamerlane;
WhileSolyman, the Sultan great,
Has now no child to rule his state;
And MOntezuma's Aztec race
Has faded from the worlds wide face.
All these-all these have persisted, died,
Their thrones have toppled in Times tide
But LeO's triple crOwn-like hat
Still rules in Rome where Peter sat.
Then ring, ye bells, your loudest, best,
And rock We s~teeples, reel nor rest
Until the East hath heard the West,
And learned how high within our breasts
Our hearts are bounding now!
And blow We organs, below out,
I'LL temples shiver with your shout,
Until the welkin joins the bout
And sends her echo as a scout
10 tell the stars, on earth no drought
OF glory to the thrice crowned brow.
And stars send back a glory CLEAN
OF one sweet, lucid, mellow stream,
To lend another beauteous beam
That this fair triple crown may seem,
In heaven made but brought to earth,
Rings worn by Three who make One,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Son,
Rings brought to earth when Christ had won
New life by human birth.
Then sing We little children, singh
And clap your hands today;
And Virgins let your voices ring,
Come, BOyhood, joyous accents bring
And be the burden that you sing
Pope Leo and the triple crown!
Oh, men and women, join the choir,
Exult, exult, and singl
Oh! let each mountain be a Tyre.
The giant wind will ring its fire
OF joyous song and never tire
Until the world shall know its sire
And see him in the Pontiff Priest!
And blow thou breeze,
The trumpet treesi
Thou tempest blast,
The organ vast
OF mighty ocean rumble, roar
While all creation in one choir
Exulting sings its sainted sire.
The sun within the Roman East,
Pacific Popel Tiaraed Priest!
Then come We monarchs to the feast,
If ye are stars, he is the East;
Yours is the tiniest sceptre, least;
He wears the stole-the grand High Priest;
And with his feet on earth's low state
One hand is touching venial fate,
And one is on high heavens gate.