Upon her woman's head earth's richest crown Hath sat with grace these sixty years and more. Her hand, her slender woman's hand, hath held The weightiest sceptre, held it with such power All homage hath been hers, at home, abroad, Where'er hath dwelt a chivalrous regard For strength of purpose and for purity, For grand achievement and for noble aim.
To-day the cares of State no longer vex; To-day the crown is laid from off her brow.
Dead! The great heart of her no more will beat With tenderness for all beneath her rule. Dead! The clear eyes of her no more will guard The nation's welfare. Dead! The arm of her No more will strike a mighty blow for right And justice; make a wide world stand amazed That one so gentle as old England's Queen Could be so fearless and so powerful!
Full wearily the sense of grief doth press And weight us down. The good Queen is no more; And we are fain to weep as children weep When greedy death comes to the home and bears From thence the mother, whose unfailing love Hath been their wealth, their safeguard, and their pride. O bells that toll in every zone and clime! There is a sound of sobbing in your breath. East, west, north, south, the solemn clamor goes, Voicing a great, a universal grief!
THANKFULNESS.
I thank Thee, Lord, For every joyous hour That has been mine! For every strengthening and helpful word, For every tender sound that I have heard, I thank Thee, Lord!
I thank Thee, Lord, For work and weariness That have been mine! For patience toward one groping toward the light, For mid-day burden and for rest of night, I thank Thee, Lord.