A Prize Birthday Poem, 1885.
We do not sing of vast domain—
Empires as vast as ours are seen,
And o'er their millions despots reign;
We sing the virtues of our Queen.
We think of her when but a maid
The message came, "the King is dead!"
And at her feet a crown was laid;
In deep distress of mind, she said:
"In my behalf I ask your prayers."