THE BELLS AND THE QUEEN, 1911

G

AY go up and gay go down

To ring the Bells of London Town.'
When London Town's asleep in bed

You'll hear the Bells ring overhead,

In excelsis gloria!

Ringing for Victoria,

Ringing for their mighty mistress-ten years dead!

Here is more gain than Gloriana guessed,
Than Gloriana guessed or Indies bring-
Than golden Indies bring. A Queen confessed,
A Queen confessed that crowned her people King.
Her people King, and crowned all Kings above,

Above all Kings have crowned their Queen their love

Have crowned their love their Queen, their Queen their love!

Denying her, we do ourselves deny,

Disowning her are we ourselves disowned. Mirror was she of our fidelity,

And handmaid of our destiny enthroned; The very marrow of Youth's dream, and still Yoke-mate of wisest Age that worked her will!

Our fathers had declared to us her praise.
Her praise the years had proven past all speech,
And past all speech our loyal hearts always,

Always our hearts lay open, each to each; Therefore men gave their treasure and their blood To this one woman-for she understood!

Four o' the clock! Now all the world is still.
Oh, London Bells, to all the world declare
The Secret of the Empire-read who will!
The Glory of the People-touch who dare!

The Bells:

Power that has reached itself all kingly powers,
St. Margaret's: By love o'erpowered-
St. Martin's: By love o'erpowered-
St. Clement Danes: By love o'erpowered,
The greater power confers!

The Bells:

For we were hers, as she, as she was ours,

O

THE CITY OF SLEEP

VER the edge of the purple down,
Where the single lamplight gleams,
Know ye the road to the Merciful Town
That is hard by the Sea of Dreams-
Where the poor may lay their wrongs away,
And the sick may forget to weep?
But we-pity us! Oh, pity us!
We wakeful; ah, pity us!-

We must go back with Policeman Day-
Back from the City of Sleep!

Weary they turn from the scroll and crown,
Fetter and prayer and plough-
They that go up to the Merciful Town,
For her gates are closing now.

It is their right in the Baths of Night
Body and soul to steep,

But we-pity us! ah, pity us!

We wakeful; oh, pity us!

We must go back with Policeman Day

Back from the City of Sleep!

Over the edge of the purple down,

Ere the tender dreams begin,

Look-we may look-at the Merciful Town,
But we may not enter in!

Outcasts all, from her guarded wall
Back to our watch we creep:
We-pity us! ah, pity us!

We wakeful; oh, pity us!

We that go back with Policeman DayBack from the City of Sleep!

F

THE WIDOWER

OR a season there must be pain—
For a little, little space

I shall lose the sight of her face,
Take back the old life again
While She is at rest in her place.

For a season this pain must endure,
For a little, little while

I shall sigh more often than smile
Till Time shall work me a cure,
And the pitiful days beguile.

For that season we must be apart,
For a little length of years,

Till my life's last hour nears,
And, above the beat of my heart,
I hear Her voice in my ears.

But I shall not understand-
Being set on some later love,

Shall not know her for whom I strove,

Till she reach me forth her hand

Saying 'Who but I have the right?'

And out of a troubled night

Shall draw me safe to the land.