And the red rose and white, forever were blended;
For when Henry the seventh took Bessy his bride,
The knot of the roses forever was tied;
And when the sceptre descended from father to son,
The red and the white leaves all mingled in one.
King Henry the eighth had quite a long reign
Mixed up with his Anne's, his Katy's and Jane.
But from this King we turn with disgust and with shame,
And greet with delight, the sixth Edward by name.
But only six years did this King fill the throne,
When called to resign it and lay his crown down.
A worthier we think, has never set
On the throne of Great Britain--at least not as yet.
With pleasure we love to contemplate him now,
With a bright crown of Glory, encircling his brow,
In the region of _light, love, peace_, and of joy,
Where pleasures eternal can have no alloy.
Sin, sickness, and death, never find entrance there,
For the air is all balm, and the skies ever fair;
The clouds of his young life have all passed away
And he enjoys the full light of an endless day--
For all who find footing on that peaceful shore,
Shall hunger, and thirst, and sorrow no more.
But once more we return to this "dim speck of earth,"
And revisit the clime that gave Edward his birth.
Bloody Mary his sister, next mounted the throne,
But when five years had pass'd, was obliged to lay down,
Notwithstanding reluctance, her Sceptre and Crown.
For death to whom she had sent many a one,
Now called for his victim, and made her his own.