Victoria.

Victoria! fit theme for loftiest lyre—
Let mighty poets say "what's in a name;"
We know that thine is in itself empire,
A vict'ry gained, kindling the filial flame
In many a heart for her who fills the throne
Of that fair sea-girt isle we fondly call our own.

Even in thy cradle, Peace, the meek-eyed dove,
Bound thy fair forehead with an olive wreath;
In blissful token of that peace and love,
We feel around us in the air we breathe,
Freedom of person, thought, and deed, and word,
Beneath the gentle rule of one who fears the Lord.

Around thy knees thy youthful children gather,
The ripening manhood of our future king;
page 61 Fair hopeful son of an illustrious father,
Albert the Good, whom poets yet shall sing;
While nations at our loyalty repine,
And witness our affection still for thee and thine.

We know thee as a princess, wife, and mother,
Now as a widow, but in duty still;
The same unchanged—"the dearer than a brother,"
With joy unspeakable thy soul doth fill;
For whoso's faithful even unto death,
Shall have a crown of life as the reward of living faith.

Round Britain's shores whene'er a household hearth
Sends up the prayer, "Give us our daily bread,"
And all oppressed people on this earth
Bless her who long has been our nation's head—
Defend her armies, grant her all success,
And with eternal life at last her bless.