Oh, victorious Queen, it's through thy loyal grace
I bring this wreath—a token from my race;
True, thou art gone, no more on earth to meet;
I come to spread these lilies at thy feet.
Of all the wreaths brought from the floral shrine,
This wreath alone portrays the life of thine.
These many years thou wert before our sight,
So calm and kind, so pure, serenely bright,
Like glowing sunlight, seated on thy throne,
Giving us rays, withholding them from none.
One soul, one God, has been thy sacred theme;
The high, the low—their cries were heard the same.
Rest on, grand soul, in perfect peace above,
For thou wert love, and love must rest with love;
Even though we weep, though sorrow fills our breast,
We do not wish to call thee from thy rest,
A star, though quenched, thy light is shining still;
Thy voice, though hushed, thy subjects know thy will.