The Wallypug in London

Excerpt

Victoria! by grace of God our Queen,
To thee thy children truest homage pay.
Thy children! ay, for Mother thou hast been,
And by a mother’s love thou holdest sway.
Thy greatest empire is thy Nation’s heart,
And thou hast chosen this the better part.
Behold, an off’ring meet thy people bring;
Hark! to the mighty world-sound gathering
From shore to shore, and echoing o’er the sea,
Attend! ye Nations while our paeans ring—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.

The grandest sight the world hath ever seen
Thy kingdom offers. Clothed in fair array,
The Majesty of Love and Peace serene,
While hosts unnumbered loyalty display,
Striving to show, by every loving art,
The day for them can have no counterpart.
Lo! sixty years of joy and sorrowing
For Queen and People, either borrowing
From other sympathy, in woe or glee,
Hath knit their hearts to thine, wherefore they sing—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.

With royal dignity and gracious mien
Thine high position thou hast graced alway;
No cloud of discord e’er hath come between
Thy nation and thyself; the fierce white ray
That beats upon thy throne bids hence depart
The faintest slander calumny can dart.
Thy fame is dear alike to churl and king,
And highest honour lies in honouring
The Sovereign to whom we bend the knee;
“God save the Queen,” one strain unvarying—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.

What prophet, or what seer, with vision keen,
Reading the message of a far-off day,
The wonders of thy reign could have foreseen,
Or known the story that shall last for aye?
A page that History shall set apart;
Peace and Prosperity in port and mart,
Honour abroad, and on resistless wing
A steady progress ever-conquering.
Thy glorious reign, our glorious theme shall be,
And gratitude in every heart upspring—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.

Behold, ye tyrants, and a lesson glean
How subjects may be governed. Lo! the way
A Woman teaches who doth ne’er demean
Her office high. Hark! how her people pray
For blessings on the head that doth impart
So wise a rule. For them no wrongs do smart,
No cruelties oppress, no insults sting,
Nor does a despot hand exaction wring;
Though governed, Britain’s subjects still are free.
Gaze then—ye unwise rulers wondering—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.

Envoy.

Queen Mother, love of thee doth ever spring
Within thy children’s hearts, a priceless thing,
Nor pomp nor state that falleth unto thee
Can ever rival this grand carolling—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.

G. E. Farrow

My dear little Friends,

You will no doubt be surprised to find this book commencing with a perfectly serious poem, and one which probably some of you will find a little difficulty in understanding. When you have grown older, however, and happen to look at this little book again, you will be glad to be reminded of the historic event which the poem commemorates. Now, about ourselves, when I asked in my last book, The Missing Prince, for letters from my little readers, I had no idea that I had so many young friends, and I can hardly tell you how delighted I have been at receiving such a number of kind letters from all parts of the world....