Young Emperor in his proper pride.
Should shake from their false shoes
Germania's dust. The Muse
Must sing Jove-WILHELM great and good,
By a benignant fate
Lifted, gifted, gifted, lifted,
Lifted to a god's estate,
Olympian in his mood:

* * * * *

The mighty Master smiled to see,
Infant-in-Arms, young Germany,
Jove's nursling, quit his cot and pap,
And, quite a promising young chap,
Grown out of baby-shoes and bottle,
And "draughts" which teased his infant throttle,
Get rid of ailments, tum-tum troubles,
Tooth-cutting pangs, and "windy" bubbles,
A tremendous time beginning;
Fighting still, all foes destroying:--
"A world-empire's worth the winning!
Its fair foretaste I'm enjoying.
The new god now sits beside ye,
Take the gifts he will provide ye!
He's your young Orbilian schooler,
Your Hereditary Ruler!"
(The Brandenburgers bellow loud applause.)
"_My_ course is right, and glorious is _my_ Cause!!!"
The Prince, the god unable to restrain,