“Rejoice, O Land!  Imperial Realm, rejoice! 
      Wherever round the world
      Our standard floats unfurl’d,
    Let every heart exult in music’s voice! 
      Be glad, O grateful England,
      Triumphant shout and sing, Land! 
        As from each belfried steeple
          The clanging joy-bells sound,
        Let all our happy people
          The wandering world around,
    Rejoice with the joy this jubilee brings,
    Circling the globe as with seraphim wings!”

    II.

    (Minor piano.)

    “Lo, the wondrous story,
        Praise all praise above! 
    Fifty years of glory,
        Fifty years of love! 
    Chastened by much sadness,
        Mid the dark of death,
    But illumed with gladness
        By the sun of faith: 
    What a life, O Nations,
        What a reign is seen
    In the consummations
        Crowning Britain’s Queen!”

    III.

    (Finale.—­Crescendo.)

    “Riches of Earth, and Graces of Heaven,
    God in His love hath abundantly given,
    More by a year than seven times seven,
        Blessing our Empress, the Queen! 
    Secrets of Science, and marvels of Art,
    Health of the home, and wealth of the mart,
    All that is best for the mind and the heart,
        Crowded around her are seen. 
    Honour, Religion, and Plenty are hers,
    Peace, and all heavenly messengers,
    While loyalty every spirit upstirs
        To shout aloud, God save the Queen!”

Here the words end, as brevity is wisdom.  But the music, as a majestic finale, might include touches of Rule Britannia, Luther’s Hymn, and the National Anthem.

I have asked my friend Mr. Manns if he will set my words to music, but his modesty declines, as he professes to be mainly a conductor rather than a composer; and he recommends me to apply to some more famous musician, as perhaps Sullivan, or Macfarren, or haply Count Gleichen.  All I can say is, nothing would be more gratifying to my muse than for either of those great names to adapt my poetry to his melody.

Suitably enough, I may here insert a page as to my own musical idiosyncrasy as a bit of author-life.

* * * * *

Keble is said to have had no ear for a tune, however perfect as to rhyme and rhythm; and there are those who suppose my tympanum to be similarly deficient, though I persistently dispute it.  Living (when at Norwood) within constant free hearing of the best music in the world, at the Crystal Palace, I ought to be musical, if not always so accredited; but I do penitentially confess to occasional weariness in over long repeated symphonies, where the sweet little motif is always trying to get out but is cruelly driven back,—­in the endlessness of fugues, and what seems to my offended ear the useless waste