Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/35

 The strong spring wind blows notes of praise, And hallowing pride of heart, and cheer Unchanging, toward all true men here Who hold the trust of ancient days High as of old this year.

The days that made thee great are dead; The days that now must keep thee great Lie not in keeping of thy fate; In thine they lie, whose heart and head Sustain thy charge of state.

No state so proud, no pride so just, The sun, through clouds at sunrise curled Or clouds across the sunset whirled, Hath sight of, nor has man such trust As thine in all the world.