Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN MEMORY OF HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN: 1. JANUARY 22, 1901, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN MEMORY OF HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN: 1. JANUARY 22, 1901, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The days, the years, the centuries decay
Last Line: Friend! Sovereign! Mother! Oh, farewell! Farewell!
Subject(s): Victoria, Queen Of England (1819-1901)


I.

JANUARY 22, 1901.

THE days, the years, the centuries decay,
Decease, and pass away;
And we, whose brief lives fleeting seem
No longer than a dream,
Fade and decease as they.
Virtue, nor piety, nor regal State,
Nor all a nation's prayers can delay
The pitiless march of Fate.
We have our destined term, both small and great;
We fade, and pass away.

Beloved thin-drawn life, who now at last,
Life's chequered fortunes past,
Ceasing from care and labours nobly borne,
Hast entered willing on thy well-earned rest;
Who, longest of all Monarchs of our race,
Unmatched in dignity and grace,
Thy pure, untarnished Diadem hast worn;
Not pitiable thou, but blest,
Such weight of anxious cares thou layest down
With thy sad earthly crown;
A woman vowed to duty, lonely, tried,
Unhelped, with no protecting arm to guide,
Thro' many a civil broil, and storm of war
Thou showest a single star
Shining serene above the gathering strife,
The clouds, the troubles of thy people's life;
For thee to-day thy countless millions yearn
With hearts and lips that burn.
From North to South, from East to West,
Where'er thy gracious Empire is confest,
O'er every subject land, o'er all the Earth;
Thy Austral-Britain newly come to birth;
Thy great Dominion of the snow-clad North;
Thy tropic isles; thy Orient's storied plain,
From the Himalayan peaks to the blue surge-fringed main;
O'er that new realm, scarce won by British blood,
Swept still by hopeless war's retreating flood;
All know and mourn thee, and revere
Their Queen and hold thee dear
Who know in her, as we,
A righteous life unstained, a blessed memory!

But nearer than their homage, and more dear
To every loyal ear
Than titular splendours or Imperial State,
Sounds thy new name, which loving hearts create,
"The Mother!" this the universal word
By which all hearts, all hues, all creeds are stirred.
"The Mother!" Not from suffering lives alone
Flinging their sorrows down before thy throne
In this sad, toil-worn Britain, but where'er,
In either hemisphere,
By palm or pine, tropic or Arctic sky,
Our English Standards fly,
Or that great West, thy grandsire's stubborn pride
Lost, by thee re-allied;
This welds the race in one, this name can bind
The peoples, heart and mind,
This symbol of Imperial Unity
Which links, yet leaves men free.

To-day the golden cord is loosed at last
Which long time bound men fast.
The star is set, which in the East, long time,
Men gazing, held sublime!
Ah! be it thine! pure heart and steadfast will!
To guide our Britain still.
The Times are restless, the unquiet Earth
Moves to some new mysterious birth;
The curse of war still vexes, and our race
Seems sinking to disgrace.
For peace the widow and the orphan cry,
With torture-pains Christ's innocent martyrs die.
Thou who hast known so many a piercing pain,
Love, children, children's children, wept in vain,
Friend following friend, and thou still left alone
Upon thy lonely throne;
Who mournedst last, thy people's lifeblood shed,
Their high, their lowly, manhood, maimed and dead.
Think of us still, if God so wills, and plead!
As daily thou wert wont indeed,
For this thy people which must toil and bleed.
Plead thou for Peace for all the suffering Earth
Till comes at last Man's new Millennial Birth;
Plead, tender, aged voice, till all is well!
Friend! Sovereign! Mother! Oh, Farewell! Farewell!





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