A Coronation Ode. Poem by William Baron

Sovereign lord of the Empire! - King of our Isle of the Sea! -
The eyes of thy countless subjects to-day are turned on thee -
On thee and thy Royal Consort, who with thee shares the throne.
Within her veins flows the blood of the Danes, but her love is ours alone.
List to the drums' loud beating! - List to the trumpets' blare! -
List to the sounds of rejoicing that rise on the balmy air!
Banished is care and sadness, gaily the joy bells ring,
In every heart reigns gladness at the crowning of thee - our King!

Great son of a greater mother! - a heritage vast is thine!
On thy dominions the sun ne'er sets, but ever and aye doth shine.
Thy sphere of rule is boundless - it stretches across the seas
Away to the Land of the Maple, and the far Antipodes.
No single point of the compass, but thy flag is flying there;
In north and south, in the torrid zone - it flutters everywhere!
From the towering minarets of the east, to the wigwams of the west,
Thou wieldest sway o'er millions who obey thy least behest.

Remember that those of thy subjects who dwell o'er the rolling foam,
Are as staunch in their allegiance as those in our island-home;
They have proved both ready and willing to take up the Empire's cause,
And have shed their life-blood freely in battle against its foes.
Nobly they came to the rescue! - and wherever our flag is unfurled
We have kinsmen ready to answer the call, and show unto all the world
That those who would seek our downfall, and wrest from us pride of place,
Must fight and vanquish, not Britain alone, but the whole of her dauntless
race!

The sons of the Mother-country, who cling to their native share,
Are made of the stuff their fathers were, in the by-gone days of yore;
With the self-same warrior spirit, and the bulldog courage, too,
That won our battles on Crecy's plains at Blenheim and Waterloo.
No quarrel is of their seeking; no malice lives in their hearts;
But, once aroused to action, right well do they play their parts!
When danger threatens the dear old flag, to arms they eagerly spring
Ready to fight for England! - Ready to die for their King!

Many and great are the burdens of him who fills a throne!
Our prestige is in thy keeping, so guard it as thy own;
Keep thou its honour unsullied, preserve its spotless fame,
That those who come hereafter may have cause to revere thy name.
Light up the land with learning, bid strife and discard cease;
Encourage the march of Progress, and foster the arts of Peace!
Follow the golden footsteps of her who has gone before,
And the hearts of a grateful people shall bless thee evermore.

Seventh of the line of Edwards! - and noblest of all the seven -
Our love and our allegiance to thee is freely given!
The charge of a mighty Empire is handed unto thee,
And we feel thou wilt guide us safely, hard though thy task may be.
Gladly thy subjects hail thee as ruler of the realm;
With shouts of acclamation they see thee take the helm!
Through the lips of thy loyal millions this prayer is passed between: -
'Long live our new-crowned monarch! - God save the King and Queen!'