Classic Poem

From east to west the Union Jack has been
Awave all day for country and for Queen.

In aureole of honour stands she high
Upon the pinnacle of history.
No brow that wore the jewel and the gem
In Britain's crown has born that diadem
With such white purity of life and mien
As hers.

To-day her reign seems to have been
A benediction of vast liberties,
That now like many brilliant stars arise
In unity of strength, and with the years
That rolled them over undiscovered spheres —
Have well been forged within a daily flame,
And form a halo round her royal name,
And every shaft in that reflection owes
Its birth to Honour, and with Honour grows,
Until the offspring with the parent stands
Triumphantly within Victoria's hands.

Sweet English mother on old England's throne!
What nobler kingdom can a woman own
Than empires in the heart — and foremost there
Environed by a million tongues of prayer!
How loyalty leaps up in every soul
That calls her Queen — we glory in control
So unabused to serve her subjects best,
That in her blessing she herself is blest.
O! Sorrow, with thy black and sombre wing —
Could we have checked thy mournful whispering —
Could we have chained thy presence and thy voice
Outside her palace walls, had we the choice,
God knows how gladly many of us would
Have died to save our Queen her widowhood.

Through dark, uncertain futures England's shore
May washed with tempests be, yet evermore
Throughout the ages nations will maintain
Her zenith was in good Victoria's reign.
Perchance a thousand years will sweep away
The barriers of time, when some shall say:
" Would we had lived within the age and lands
When sceptres drew their soul from woman's hands."
O! queenly hands so gentle in your sway,
All Canada cheers on your natal day,
From east to west wave scarlet, white and blue,
In honour of our country and of you.

Time sculptures for us all,
Nor dwells he in king's palaces alone,
But chisels every life into a form
In marbles, streaked or pure — perchance the stone
Is our own making, who can tell, when torn
From Nature's quarries in our early days,
If fate or circumstance our pathway lays?
Or is the power our own to rise and fall?
To-day we mark a statue that has grown
With time's light touch, where nations turn their eyes
To thrones where many royal feet have stood,
And see beneath the arch of English skies
A monument of perfect womanhood.