 | English Roses |  |
THE BABY KING.
On a throne more broad than ever
Rome or England wrought
With their armed and iron endeavour
And imperial thought,
Sits the latest and the greatest
Flower of this triumphant time,
In the glory of his court
Beautiful and bright and short;
While all ranks of every clime,
Wealth of worlds and praises' chime
Are to him but fleeting sport.
Rome or England wrought
With their armed and iron endeavour
And imperial thought,
Sits the latest and the greatest
Flower of this triumphant time,
In the glory of his court
Beautiful and bright and short;
While all ranks of every clime,
Wealth of worlds and praises' chime
Are to him but fleeting sport.
When he sleeps the earth is quiet
Stepping on tip toes,
When he wakes delicious diet
Soothes his thirsty throes;
Men are making, hearts are breaking
Just to please his idlest whim
For a moment or a day,
As a bubble blown in play;
Hands may labour, eyes grow dim
In their faithful watch for him,
While he goes his careless way.
Stepping on tip toes,
When he wakes delicious diet
Soothes his thirsty throes;
Men are making, hearts are breaking
Just to please his idlest whim
For a moment or a day,
As a bubble blown in play;
Hands may labour, eyes grow dim
In their faithful watch for him,
While he goes his careless way.
For the weaving of his vesture
Toil the weary lands,
And his faintest nod or gestures
Are supreme commands;
At his babble, Prince and rabble
Both alike obedient bend;
And his least most trifling looks,
To the farthest darkest nooks
Edicts universal send;
And his fits of silence blend,
With the lore of learnèd books.
Toil the weary lands,
And his faintest nod or gestures
470
At his babble, Prince and rabble
Both alike obedient bend;
And his least most trifling looks,
To the farthest darkest nooks
Edicts universal send;
And his fits of silence blend,
With the lore of learnèd books.
Sword and needle, man and beasts
Owning as their law
Each low lisping, spread him feasts
Grudged to armies' awe;
And to weakness grant with meekness
All the tribute earth can yield,
All the Heaven itself may bring,
Gold and diamonds, angel's wing,
Fruit of Eden, bloom of field,
Thunder throat of shell and shield—
For the world's wee Baby King.
Owning as their law
Each low lisping, spread him feasts
Grudged to armies' awe;
And to weakness grant with meekness
All the tribute earth can yield,
All the Heaven itself may bring,
Gold and diamonds, angel's wing,
Fruit of Eden, bloom of field,
Thunder throat of shell and shield—
For the world's wee Baby King.
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