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The strong arm is loyal,-
The voices sincere,—
The spirits right royal,

That welcome thee here!

For welcome to England! right welcome art thou,
As leaves to the forest,-as bloom to the bough!

'Tis no mocking welcome that meets thee!
'Tis no worn-out nation that hails!
The spirit is mighty that greets thee,
Who com'st to be Princess of Wales!

To thee freely given,

Shall heartily be ;

That honour of heaven,

The love of the free!

For welcome to Britain,-right welcome art thou,
As spring to the woodland,—as bloom to the bough.



LIKE fanfare of trumpets, the sound "Prepare!”
The March winds over the mountains bear;
And mutely the mountains have listen'd around,
And proudly the valleys re-echoed the sound!
The bold, the brave, the fair;

The lofty, the lowly; the heart of the nation,
The fanfare has roused into bright approbation!—
'Prepare! Prepare! Prepare!"


Now why give the trumpets, the sound, "Prepare!"
That March winds over the mountains bear?
And why have the mountains so listen'd around?
And why have the valleys re-echoed the sound?
Oh! rest, and hope, dwell there ;—
Calm rest in the present, with loyal emotion;
And hope for the future, with faith and devotion;
That hear-obey-prepare!

Invention has heard, and right loyally labours,— Out flow, white as snowflakes, the triple-plumed


Right loyally labours in beauty and bloom;
In flowerwork for daylight, and firework for gloom!

And wealth, and skill, declare,

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For Britain the blest, that the summons is binding,
Now over the city and wilderness winding!-
'Prepare! Prepare! Prepare!"

Prepare for the Prince and the Princess the way!
For the Bride and the Bridegroom adorn the day!
Let the harp of the beautiful sweetly sound;
And the bells of blessing ring widely round,
As Spring songs fill the air!

And free be the gladness, as that the day bringeth,
When morn-meeting bird, in the sunny blue singeth;
"Prepare! Prepare! Prepare!"

It is right with roses to strew the way!

It is good to be glad, and fair to be gay!

It is fair to the heir of the world's first throne,

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That the heart of the nation in joy be shown!-
'Tis right, and good, and fair,

That welcome and blessing should fill the gales,
For the Princess of Denmark, and Prince of Wales!—
Prepare! Prepare! Prepare!"

'Tis therefore the trumpet-note comes, "Prepare!"
That March winds over the mountains bear;
And therefore the mountains are listening round;
And therefore the valleys re-echo the sound;
For peace, and hope, dwell there;

Calm rest in the present, with loyal emotion;
And hope for the future, with faith and devotion,
That hear-obey-prepare!


O, WHEN the peasant weds his bride;
And the singers sing, and the players play,
And the ringers ring, on the holiday,—
Be it feast, or wake, or tide;

Then life forgetteth, for the hours,
The past of care and pain;
As fair unfolding morning flowers,
Forget the night and rain.

Each local herald tells the tale,

The tidings spread around;
Yet hardly leave the lowly vale

Beyond the church bell's sound.

But when the noble weds his bride,
And the singers sing, and the players play,
And the ringers ring, on the holiday,

The tidings win a circle wide;

For the story, floating in the gale,
The festal valley fills;

And the cannon rolls the cheerful tale,
Afar beyond the hills.


Yet tens of thousands never know
The tidings great and grand;
Though widely far the voices flow-
The heralds of the land.

But Albert Edward weds his bride,
And the singers sing, and the players play,
And the ringers ring on the holiday,—
'Tis the feast-the wake-the tide!

The tidings spread as spreads the day,
On wings of wide renown;

The mountains cannot bar their way,
The oceans cannot drown.

O there's no heart that love has known,
That, for the royal pair,

Breathes not in truly fervent tone,
A blessing and a prayer.

And not from one fair vale alone,
Doth welcome to the morn arise,
Cheerful as skylarks' merry tone,
Rejoicing in the skies:

And not from one glad hillside only,
And not from one high mountain lonely;

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