The fate which destined thee for lofty power, And crowned thee Sovereign o’er an Empire wide, Placed too the cup of suffering by thy side And sorrow gave thee for imperial dower: How little did’st thou dream in Fortune’s hour Thy barque would founder on such tragic tide Of blood as wrecks a mighty nation’s pride, While black the clouds of Revolution lower! What force sustained thee in those days of stress When death and ruin held their sombre court, And frenzied mob set might all right above? What made thee still thy prayers to Heav’n address, And solace to thy stricken spirit brought? ’Twas faith unshaken in a God of love. In giving to th…
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