Poems (Curwen)/To Her Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria

by Annie Isabel Curwen

To Her Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria,

ON COMPLETING THE 60TH YEAR OF HER REIGN.

1837—1897.

Beloved Queen! thrice twenty years have flown
 Since that eventful morn in June, when thou
Learnt thy succession to the throne,
 And now the silvered tresses wreathe thy brow.

Dear wast thou to our grandsires in those days—
 The olden days that seem so far away—
Dear to our sires who sang Victoria's praise,
 And dear unto our children of to-day.

Ah, well we know what thoughts are in thy breast,
 What mingled memories of joy and pain,
As standing by this fresh milestone to rest
 Thou dost review thy glorious record reign.

Gone are those grey-haired counsellors of thine,
 Who were the first to pledge their fealty
To thee and all thy future Royal line—
 But in the courts of heaven they wait for thee.

Gone too, thy Consort Albert, named the "Good,"
 That dear devoted one who called thee wife;
And left thee to long years of widowhood—
 Oh! thine has been indeed a chequered life.

But thou hast ever well and nobly borne
 The onerous duties of thine high estate;
And surely on this great thanksgiving morn
 With solemn joy thy heart must be elate;

For God has blessed thee, aye! in very truth,
 O'er other earthly monarchs far above:
Given thee wisdom, crowned thee from thy youth
 With honour, glory, peace, and perfect love.

Prolonged thy days, so that thine eyes might see
 The son of thy son's son—a direct line
Of heirs, assured by heaven to thee—
 Surely the Lord hath blest both thee and thine.

Empress of India! Queen of our dear land;
 Dear in thy youth, but dearer to us now,
Since Time has woven with his tireless hand
 A silver coronal for thy dear brow.

Accept the homage of thy many sons,
 Whose faithful hearts are shrines of loyalty;
And daughters, too, who train their little ones
 To think with loving reverence of thee.

O, Queen beloved! girt round with golden chains,
 The golden chains our loyal hearts have wove,
Thy power is built on that which never wanes—
 That glorious power—a freeborn nation's love.

With thine the nation's prayers ascend to-day
 To the great Lord of Lords—the King of Kings—
Praying that He may guard thee day by day,
 And keep thee 'neath the shadow of His wings.

And when at last He calls thee to resign
 This kingdom thou hast loved and called thy own,
God grant a fairer kingdom may be thine—
 A seat with Him upon the Great White Throne.