Volume 102 — TO THE QUEEN.

Queenly as womanly, those words that start From sorrow's lip strike home to sorrow's heart. Madam, our griefs are one; But yours, from kinship close and your high place, The keener, mourning him in youth's glad grace Who loved you as a son. We mourn him too. Our wreaths of votive flowers Speak, mutely, for us. The deep gloom that lowers To-day across the land Is no mere pall of ceremonial grief. 'Tis hard in truth, though reverent belief Bows to the chastening hand. Hard—for his parents, that young bride, and you, Bearer of much bereavement, woman true, And patriotic QUEEN! We hear the courage striking through the pain, As always in your long, illustrious reign, Which shrinking ne'er hath seen,— Shrinking from high-strung duty, the brave way Of an imperial spirit. So to-day Your People bow—in pride. The sympathy of millions is your own. May Glory long be guardian of your Throne, Love ever at its side!