LITMIR.BIZ

      Red battle-fields whereon your soldiers died,

      Green pastoral fields saved by the blood of these,

      Duty that bade mere sorrow stand aside,

      And love transforming anguish into ease;

      Long longing satisfied,

      Great secrets wrenched from Nature’s grudging breast,

      The fruit of knowledge plucked for all to eat, —

      These have you known, Life’s circle is complete,

      And, knowing these, you know what is Life’s best:

      The dear small secrets of our common life,

      The English woods and hills, the English home,

      The common joys and griefs of Mother and wife,

      Joy coming, going – griefs that go and come,

      Soul’s peace amid world’s strife;

      Hours when the Queen’s cares leave the woman free;

      Dear friendships, where the friend forgets the Queen

      And stoops to wear a dearer, homelier mien,

      And be more loved than mere Queens rise to be.

      And, in your hour of triumph, when you shine

      The centre of our triumph’s blazing star,

      And, gazing down your long life’s lustrous line,

      Behold how great your life-long glories are,

      Yet, in your heart’s veiled shrine,

      No splendour of all splendours that have been

      Will brim your eyes with tremulous thanksgivings,

      But little memories of little things —

      The treasures of the woman, not the Queen.

      Yet, Queen, because the love of you hath wound

      A golden girdle all about the earth,

      Because your name is as a trumpet sound

      To call toward you men of English birth

      From the world’s outmost bound,

      Because old kinsmen, long estranged from home,

      Come, with old foes, to greet you, friend and kin,

      With kindly eyes behold your guests come in,

      See from afar the long procession come!

      No Emperor in Rome’s Imperial days

      Knew ever such a triumph day as this,

      Though captive kings bore chains along his ways,

      Though tribute from the furthest isles was his,

      With pageant and with praise.

      For you – free kings and free republics grace

      Your triumph, and across the conquered waves

      Come gifts from friends, not tributes wrung from slaves,

      And praise kneels, clothed in love, before your face.

      Ring, bells! flags, fly! and let the great crowd roar

      Its ecstasy! Let the hid heart in prayer

      Lift up your name! God bless you evermore,

      Lady, who have the noblest crown to wear

      That ever monarch wore.

      For, ’mid this day’s triumphal voluntaries,

      Your name shines like the splendour of the sun,

      Because your name with England’s name is one,

      As Hers, thank God! is one with Liberty’s.