Tap, pause; tap, pause; tap, pause.
A lonely sound which echoes round an ancient hall.
And to its beat In single file emerge a King, as well the Princess Royal,
My lords of York and then of Sussex; peers of the realm, all duty bound
To take their places, which by ceremoniously doing thus evinces
Such enduring continuity when its viewed - that vigil of the princes.
The Royal Standard drapes the coffin
There in which the late Queen lies
Lions, rampart, passant guardant,
And the harp of Ireland, blue;
Scarlet, yellow, such bright colours;
Jewelled the crown which sits there too.
And in the coffin ‘neath that glory
Lies our Queen now stiff, now cold.
Three score years and ten her story,
Three score years and ten which queue
From Southwark Park to Lambeth Bridge,
Just once more their Queen to view.
Just once more their Queen to view,
Patient, waiting through the night.
All walks of life to whisper through
This hall built by the Conqueror’s son.
Mute might it stand yet shout so loud
Of Britain’s past and of its history proud.
Tap, pause; tap, pause; tap, pause.
A lonely sound which echoes round the ancient hall.
And to its beat In single file emerge a King, as well the Princess Royal,
My lords of York and then of Sussex; peers of the realm, all duty bound
To take their places, which by ceremoniously doing thus evinces
That enduring continuity when its viewed - the vigil of the princes.
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 6:16 PM UTC
Tap, pause; tap, pause; tap, pause.
A lonely sound which echoes round an ancient hall.
And to its beat In single file emerge a King, as well the Princess Royal,
My lords of York and then of Sussex; peers of the realm, all duty bound
To take their places, which by ceremoniously doing thus evinces
Such enduring continuity when its viewed - that vigil of the princes.
The Royal Standard drapes the coffin
There in which the late Queen lies
Lions, rampart, passant guardant,
And the harp of Ireland, blue;
Scarlet, yellow, such bright colours;
Jewelled the crown which sits there too.
And in the coffin ‘neath that glory
Lies our Queen now stiff, now cold.
Three score years and ten her story,
Three score years and ten which queue
From Southwark Park to Lambeth Bridge,
Just once more their Queen to view.
Just once more their Queen to view,
Patient, waiting through the night.
All walks of life to whisper through
This hall built by the Conqueror’s son.
Mute might it stand yet shout so loud
Of Britain’s past and of its history proud.
Tap, pause; tap, pause; tap, pause.
A lonely sound which echoes round the ancient hall.
And to its beat In single file emerge a King, as well the Princess Royal,
My lords of York and then of Sussex; peers of the realm, all duty bound
To take their places, which by ceremoniously doing thus evinces
That enduring continuity when its viewed - the vigil of the princes.
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