And loyally and proudly

Beat hearts amid the scene;
But oh! through all the pageantry,
Where was our English Queen?

The hand that wields the sceptre,
The form that fills the throne,
Why stays she from the gorgeous throng,
A woman, and alone?

Why flits the smile so sad and sweet,
As with a weight oppressed?
Why is the heart so strongly schooled
Within that widowed breast?

She fears not that the traitor
Lurks in her loving host;

She knows that strength and faithfulness
Guard well her rock-bound coast,

She glances on her first-born son,
She hears their plighted vows;

Where by him Alexandra,

Child of the sea kings, bows.

What thought the Queen Victoria,
A silent watcher there;

When the flower of British chivalry

Paid homage to her heir?

When all this earth calls beautiful

Passed by with joyous tread,

'Mid the gathering of her loving ones, Her thoughts were on her dead.

Why, 'mid the burst of anthems,
When the thrilling music rolls,
Fell tears from those fair princesses?
What stirs their gentle souls?
Is it not enough for them-
The beauty of those flowers,
The joyous thrill of melody,
The homage of those hours?

Yes, yes; but what were jewels,
What the array that swept
Around them as the memory woke
Of him who calmly slept?
They heeded not the gazing crowd,
In that blest hour of pride,
When the music woke anew to life,
For Albert Edward's bride.

They thought, those weeping daughters,
Of the pulseless hand that penned
The festive strains that gloriously
To vaulted roofs ascend.

They thought that moment of the thorns

Strewn in life's wilderness

Their widowed mother stood alone,

And they were fatherless.

Knights of the glowing orders,
Soldiers who watchful wait;
True patriots and star-gemmed peers,
That nobly prop the State;
Tell us if in the time to come,
Of England's hopes and fears,
You will deem her glory sullied
By woman's loving tears?

Angels to earth which minister,
Tell us, with vow and prayer,
Carried ye not the casket back

Of tear-drops gathered there?
Did ye not find a fadeless flower,
Grown in the human heart?

"Who called the strong as Death, O Love, Mightier thou wast and art."

THE PILGRIM'S SONG OF CONFIDENCE.

"I will trust and not be afraid."-BIBLE.

M

Y path is in the wilderness,

My way is in the desert wild,
And dreary wastes and loneliness
Mingle with rocks, in terror piled;
Yet One has promised He will guide

To lands whose treasures have no rust;

I have upon His strength relied

Can He sustain me? "I will trust!"

My path is through the waters cold,
And billows rise on every side;
I hear the noise where breakers rolled-
I feel their overpowering tide;

A hand is on the flowing mane

Of ocean's charger-halt it must—

One holds the breakers' bridle-rein,

And can He curb them? "I will trust!"

The noontide sun is high in heaven,
Its rays are bending o'er my brow;
No streamlet 'mid this sand is given-
No green oasis near me now;
Nearer it comes-the siroc storm-
Scorching and burning is its dust;
Yet I saw One in human form-

The Good Physician-"I will trust!"

The evening cometh; I would rest,

And in forgetfulness repose,

But rain-drops stream upon my breast,
Forbidding my worn eyes to close;
Yet 'mid the tempest's hollow moan,

The lightning's glare, the whirlwind gust, I surely heard a soft, low tone—

I know its whisper-"I will trust!"

As on my weary way I passed,

A bright star lit my midnight sky I prized its beauty-but a blast

;

With heavy clouds went sweeping by— A voice came murmuring from above, "Mourner, yield not to sad mistrust; Again shall gleam that star of love,

Fond and for ever." "I will trust!"

Oh! can it be there waits on high
A mansion now prepared for me?
And can I bear each weary sigh

Until those golden gates I see?
Can He who loves preserve from harm,
Re-animate my mould'ring dust,
Fold me within His shelt'ring arms,
Happy for ever? "I will trust!

THE END.