Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright,
Our aged Sovereign sits;—to the ebb and flow
Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe
Insensible;—he sits deprived of sight,
And lamentably wrapped in twofold night,
Whom no weak hopes deceived,—whose mind ensued,
Through perilous war, with regal fortitude,
Peace that should claim respect from lawless Might.
Dread King of Kings, vouchsafe a ray divine
To his forlorn condition! let thy grace
Upon his inner soul in mercy shine;
Permit his heart to kindle, and embrace,
(Though were it only for a moment’s space)
The triumphs of this hour; for they are Thine!