Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373971" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Prayer For The King's Majesty</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">22nd January, 1901.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE Queen is dead. God save the King,<br>In this his hour of grief,<br>When sorrow gathers memories in a sheaf<br>To lay them on his shoulders as he stands<br>Inheriting her glories and her lands--<br>First gain of his at which his Mother's voice<br>Has not been first to bless and to rejoice--<br>A man, set lonely between gain and loss.<br>(O words of love the heart remembereth,<br>O mighty loss outweighing every gain!)<br>A Son whose kingdom Death's arm lies across,<br>A King whose Mother lies alone with Death<br>Wrapped in the folds of white implacable sleep.<br>O God, who seest the tears Thy children weep,<br>O God, who countest each sad heart-beat, see<br>How our King needs the grace we ask of Thee!<br>Thou knowest how little and how vain a thing<br>Is Empire, when the heart is sick with pain--<br>God, save the King!<br>The Queen is dead. The splendour of her days,<br>The sorrow of them both alike merge now<br>In the new aureole that lights her brow.<br>The clamour of her people's voice in praise<br>Must hush itself to the still voice that prays<br>In the holy chamber of Death. Tread softly here,<br>A mighty Queen lies dead.<br>Her people's heart wears black,<br>The black bells toll unceasing in their ear,<br>And on the gold sun's track<br>The great world round<br>Like a black ring the voice of mourning goes,<br>Till even our ancient foes<br>With eyes downbent, and brotherly bared head,<br>Keep mourning watch with us. This is the hour<br>When Love lends all his power<br>To speed grief's arrows from the bow of Death,<br>When sighs are idle breath,<br>When tears are fountains vain.<br>She will not wake again,<br>Not now, not here.<br>O great and good and infinitely dear,<br>O Mother of your people, sleep is sweet,<br>No more Life's thorny ways will wound your feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Mother dear, sleep sound!<br>When you shall wake,<br>Your brows freed from the crown that made them ache<br>So many a time, and wear the heavenly crown,<br>Then, then you will look down<br>On us who love you, and, remembering,<br>The love of earth will breathe with us our prayer,<br>Our prayer prayed here, joined to your prayer prayed there:<br>Who knows what radiant answer it may bring?<br>'God save the King!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Queen is dead. God save the King!<br>From all ill thought and deed,<br>From heartless service and from selfish sway,<br>From treason, and the vain imagining<br>Of evil counsellors, and the noisome breed<br>Of flatterers who eat the soul away,<br>God save the King!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From loss and pain and tears<br>Such as her many years<br>Brought her; from battle and strife,<br>And the inmost hurt of life,<br>The wounds that no crown can heal,<br>No ermine robes conceal,<br>God save the King!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God, by our memories of his Mother's face,<br>By the love that makes our heart her dwelling-place,<br>Grant to our sorrow this desired grace:<br>God save the King!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * * * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Queen is dead. God save the King.<br>This is no hour when joy has leave to sing;<br>Only, amid our tears, we are bold to pray,<br>More boldly, in that we pray sorrowing,<br>In this most sorrowful day.<br>God, who wast of a mortal Mother born,<br>Who driest the tears with which Thy children mourn,<br>God, save the King!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Look down on him whose crown is wet with tears<br>In which its splendour fades and disappears--<br>His tears, our tears, tears out of all her lands.<br>The Queen is dead.<br>God! strengthen the King's hands!<br>God, save the King!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373971" data-title="A Prayer For The King's Majesty de Edith Nesbit" data-description="22nd January, 1901.

THE Queen is dead. God save the King,
In this his hour of grief,
When sorrow gathers memories in a sheaf
To lay them on his shoulders as he stands
Inheriting her glories and her lands--
First gain of his at which his Mother's ..."></div>
</div>
</div>