The man of law--the herald of the cross-- The painter, skilled--he of the healing art-- The man of trade--come each with loyal heart, Nor calculates his loss. But brave as these are those of noble birth; Genteel in manner, but with athlete frames, They do full honor to their ancient names, And prove by deeds their worth. Palatial homes have they and wealth untold; Nor need to labor, and no cause for fret, But deeds of noble sires they ne'er forget; Deem honor more than gold. Brave lads are these on whom we may rely. They go uncalled, content the gaps to fill, And in their places fall, if God so will, For they fear not to die. The whole Empire is loyal to the core. From far-off East, brave Indians seek the fray, And on French soil have clearly shown that they Were true to flag they bore. Their old-time leader greets his men once more, Bestows his parting blessing ere his death, And praised their valor with his final breath, Then crossed to _other_ shore. Our own brave youth by thousands answer call, And in our common cause enroll their names; With cultured minds and well-developed frames They stand like granite wall. For _truth_ and _brotherhood_ all face the foe; Themselves they cannot save, but others may. But, live or die, they hope to win the day. To sacrifice they go! QUEEN VICTORIA A Prize Birthday Poem, 1885. We do not sing of vast domain-- Empires as vast as ours are seen, And o'er their millions despots reign; We sing the virtues of our Queen. We think of her when but a maid The message came, "_the King is dead!_" And at her feet a crown was laid; In deep distress of mind, she said: "_In my behalf I ask your prayers._" Then falling on her knees to pray, She told the Lord her fears and cares, And sought from Him strength for her day. He seemed to say, "_Child, do not fear; I will uphold thee with my hand, And I will make thy pathway clear, Thy throne establish in the land._" 'Twas thus began Victoria's reign, And God has made her throne secure; Her enemies will plot in vain, For it is destined to endure. But while she sits on regal throne, And acts full well a regal part, She reigns not on the throne alone, She reigns to-day in England's heart. Her queenly heart with pity throbs For every suffering subject's woes; In lowly cot, 'midst groans and sobs, She like a ray of sunshine goes. As sweet perfume by outward gale Is carried far o'er sea and land, So queenly virtues never fail To touch true hearts on every strand. In every land, her name is blest; She is beloved by old and young; From pole to pole, from east to west, The song, "God save the Queen," is sung. Through sorrows deep her path has led, And tender ties have sundered been; Bright hopes were buried with her dead, And love has kept their memory green.