William Wordsworth

Now That All Hearts Are Glad

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 wrapt 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 to embrace (Though it were only for a moment's space) The triumphs of this hour; for they are THINE!

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