ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH OF PRINCE ALBERT ,

A gloom of sickness, gathering in the East,
Spreads over England growing to despair:
Outside the Prince's chamber waits a priest,
With that last medicine for our clay, a prayer.

Not now in state, a royal mother knelt,
Thinking of this day ten dead years ago:
Last night the staghound wailed; perchance it felt
The sense those creatures have of coming woe.

Then England prayed, but not alone the isle
Where England's throne is: on far Western plains
Beyond the seas men prayed, and in strange style
Those dark-eyed Persians in their Hindu fanes.

Then Alexandra, in her secret soul
And silent closet, all alone with One
Who lent her of his own sweet self-control,
Prayed to the Father, imaged in that Son:

" Let not the heir of England, O my God!
Go to the grave without a story meet
For such nobility of soul and birth;
But in that high path which his father trod,
Let him walk ever with unswerving feet,
Until his reign accomplished be on earth.
Thou who art King of kings and all mankind,
Who holdest in thy hand the hearts of kings,
Knowing their purposes and men's desire,
Be to my prayer thy gracious ear inclined,
In this December's darkest hour that brings
Remembrance back of my lord's goodly sire.
Who went to glory with his crown of grace
And spotless record in his princely hand,
And all the kingdom sorrowing at his bier,
That Thou, who ever didst befriend his race,
Wilt spare my husband for this weeping land,
To serve it ever, as thy servant here.

Oh, Albert Edward! let the people say,
In thee we know our Heaven-appointed king,
Because when all were heart-sick with dismay
Hope fanned our fever with her constant wing;

And when the star of life was hardly seen
Under one awful shadow in the storm,
That cloud was broken! and the blue serene
Smiled, — and the star burned steadily and warm,

For England's prayer was heard by Him who made
England so mighty! rich and free and strong.
Oh may that sceptre still be wisely swayed
Which Heaven hath blest so largely and so long!