Then round our good Victoria,
As slowly on she past,
A hundred winged whispers
Come floating thick and fast.
“What if these millions rise in arms?
“Think on the Bourbon’s fate!
“What if but one assail thee?
“Back—ere it be too late!”
Round gazed she, as not deigning
Such fears to entertain:
Yes—if indeed they hated her,
Then had she lived in vain!
For the people’s glow of welcome
Is the Monarch’s purest gem—
And her heart was calm and confident
In its honest love for them!
“O England—gallant England!
“So tried—and yet so true!
“You will not do your sovereign wrong,
“Who trusts her all to you!”
So she spake, and smiling showed
The young heir by her side,
And mid a thunder of applause,
Sailed through the living tide.
And now she gains the Transept,
And now her royal throne:
Now burst the sweet young voices,
And swells the organ’s tone:
Now with her Lord and children,
And smiles of winning grace,
She passes through the joyous crowd,
That all may see her face.
And that face will be remembered
To many a distant day,
When the glitter of the pageant
Like a dream has passed away;
And the frankness and the kindliness
Of that auspicious scene,
Shall link with all our better thoughts,
Our English-hearted Queen!
And in the homes of labour,
When all have learnt to know
The one sweet tie of brotherhood
God knit for man below—
When honest toil is resting
Beside his quiet hearth,
And forgets the gloom of forge and loom,
In his children’s fearless mirth;
When the wrongs are all forgiven,
And the law of kindness rules,
When the swords are turned to ploughshares,
And the prisons into schools;
When rich and poor together,
Flock to the House of Prayer,
And not a cloud of bitterness
Disturbs the sunshine there;
When the actors in this pageant
Have all been laid to rest,
And the youngest head among us,
Is white as Snowdon’s crest;
May that glad generation
Recal this glorious day,
And Labour’s first Ovation,
Upon the First of May!
C. Whittingham, Chiswick.