The Sepulchral Recesses: King George III

And thee, of firm-set foot, and stern advance,
Giv'n to whose prayers she haply yet doth stand
To hold Truth's lamp unto a thankless land,
Our Church shall own. For no unholy chance,
Nor strength of counsel, nor embattled lance,
Nor princely league, nor sea-victorious band,
Shielded her from the pestilential brand,
And fiery breath of parricidal France :
But one who drank at her diurnal source,
One who his anchor had within the veil.

Hers was the breath that fill'd his regal sail
Right onward, Hers the star that led his course
Thro' the tempestuous skies ; that, 'mid wild force,
Disloyal tongues, fall'n kings, hearts faint and frail,
All look'd to him, in Her calm firmness free,
Sacredly wise in mild simplicity.