Heavy is the head
And strong the heart
Of she who wears the crown.
Lady, lioness
Our Queen
The young girl at the microphone
Whose father braved his stammer
And the bombs at Buckingham
You took up the mantle
Dappled and worn
Of confessors and crusaders,
And made it your own
With gravitas and grace.
From Empire to Commonwealth,
You bend but do not break
As you span the old and new,
Like eternity’s sea.
We have watched you,
The Maiden, Mother, Crone,
The gold thread of your life
Woven into ours.
You are continuity in chaos,
The eye of the storm,
The Lady Britannia,
With crosses on her shield.
You embody this sceptered isle
For the people to see.
They slam doors in your messenger’s face,
But later they will sing your name.
Oh, tension of a thousand tales
That shows the land her soul!
You bridge the human and divine,
A steward with a sacred trust
Who stands in Adam’s stead,
The first anointed king.
A sacrament of duty,
This weight of glory,
Borne up in a fallen world
With taproots to Eden.
Our Queen,
Mother, Prince, and Friend
Whose face was printed on the coins
I wished not to return,
God keep you,
God love you,
God save you!
Thank you! Amen! God save our Queen!
Monarchy can easily be ‘debunked;’ but watch the faces, mark the accents of the debunkers. These are the men whose tap-root in Eden has been cut: whom no rumour of the polyphony, the dance, can reach – men to whom pebbles laid in a row are more beautiful than an arch. Yet even if they desire equality, they cannot reach it. Where men are forbidden to honour a king they honour millionaires, athletes or film-stars instead: even famous prostitutes or gangsters. For spiritual nature, like bodily nature, will be served; deny it food and it will gobble poison.
-C.S. Lewis, “Present Concerns,” 1948