To The Emperor William.

You are at least a man, of men a king.
    You have a heart, and with that heart you love.
    The race you come from is not gendered of
The filthy sty whose latest litter cling
Round England's flesh-pots, gorged and gluttoning.
    No, but on flaming battle-fields, in courts
    Of honour and of danger old resorts,
The name of Hohen-Zollern clear doth ring.
O Father William, you, not falsely weak,
    Who never spared the rod to spoil the child,
Our mighty Germany, we only speak
    To bless you with a blessing sweet and mild,
Ere that near heaven your weary footsteps seek
    Where love with liberty is reconciled.