 | Words by the Wayside |  |
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Queen Victoria
Lay her to rest. O hour of grief and awe!
We say not England's happier days are done;
But who with that magnetic touch shall draw
And weld our world-spread Empire into one?
May He, who gave the mother, grace the son!
We say not England's happier days are done;
But who with that magnetic touch shall draw
And weld our world-spread Empire into one?
May He, who gave the mother, grace the son!
So simply noble that almost she made
Of earth-born sovereignty a thing divine!
Love was her law; by purity she swayed,
A power nor grief nor age could undermine—
Her throne an altar, and her hearth a shrine.
Of earth-born sovereignty a thing divine!
Love was her law; by purity she swayed,
A power nor grief nor age could undermine—
Her throne an altar, and her hearth a shrine.
Queen, wife, and mother, peerless: even so:
And this shall be her fame in after-years:
Or alien or akin, or friend or foe,
Old jealousies forgot, old feuds and fears,
The whole earth wrote her epitaph in tears.
And this shall be her fame in after-years:
Or alien or akin, or friend or foe,
Old jealousies forgot, old feuds and fears,
The whole earth wrote her epitaph in tears.
Lay her to rest. Her memory shall be blown
Like pure sweet air upon a tortured clime.
She made for peace, and passes to her own
With those who reign—O recompense sublime!—
Beyond the folding gates of Space and Time.
Like pure sweet air upon a tortured clime.
She made for peace, and passes to her own
With those who reign—O recompense sublime!—
Beyond the folding gates of Space and Time.
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