’Tis well that with thy peaceful Jubilee
This glorious dream begins to be,
This thy lost Consort would, this would thy Son,
Who has seen all thy Empire face to face
And fain would leave it One,
Oh, may the Hand which rules our Fate
Keep this our Britain great!
We cannot tell, we can but pray
Heaven’s blessing on our work to-day.
Uprise, oh, Palace fair, where every eye may see