Classic Poem

Down thro' a glorious century she treads,
Each step an added glory to the years;
Her fame the halo round a myriad heads,
Her name a name a willing world reveres:
A queen whose power naught hath long withstood,
A queen whose chiefest grace is womanhood.

Let others sing her grandeur on the throne;
In ode and epic let the pæan swell;
Her arms and state-craft chant in thrilling tone,
In deathless words her brilliant triumphs tell:
'Tis ours in humble verse—crude, incomplete—
To lay our tribute at the woman's feet.

All pride and pomp and circumstance aside
Flung with the trappings of the civic life,
We see her stand, a simple, modest bride—
Lamented Albert's true and loyal wife:
His love her crown, all other crowns apart,
His love the sceptre of her woman's heart.

In all the beauty of maternity
Example sweet and admonition mild,
Forgetting regal place that she may be
The guide and playmate of a little child:
Still steadfast as the crowding cycles fly,
In woman's realm her greatest majesty.

Handmaiden of the virtues, all and each,
Swift to reward, swift to rebuke as well;
The love of home her happiness to teach,
'Mid social purity her joy to dwell:
A censor of society, whose aim
Hath ever been to honor woman's name.

We hail her, then; and as the earth resounds
With soaring song and martial blare and blast,
While Glory leads her on her dazzling rounds,
We in her path would our poor offering cast:
The flower of our reverence for one
Whose queenly soul hath woman's duty done.