Jubilee

 From Clee to heaven the beacon burns,

      The shires have seen it plain,

From north and south the sign returns

      And beacons burn again.

Look left, look right, the hills are bright,

      The dales are light between,

Because 'tis fifty years to-night

      That God has saved the Queen.

Now, when the flame they watch not towers

      About the soil they trod,

Lads, we'll remember friends of ours

      Who shared the work with God.

To skies that knit their heartstrings right,

      To fields that bred them brave,

The saviours come not home to-night:

      Themselves they could not save.

It dawns in Asia, tombstones show

      And Shropshire names are read;

And the Nile spills his overflow

      Beside the Severn's dead.

We pledge in peace by farm and town

      The Queen they served in war,

And fire the beacons up and down

      The land they perished for.

"God save the Queen" we living sing,

      From height to height 'tis heard;

And with the rest your voices ring,

      Lads of the Fifty-third.

Oh, God will save her, fear you not:

      Be you the men you've been,

Get you the sons your fathers got,

      And God will save the Queen.

- A. E. Housman

God of our fathers, known of old,

   Lord of our far-flung battle-line,

Beneath whose awful Hand we hold

   Dominion over palm and pine—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;

   The Captains and the Kings depart:

Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,

   An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;

   On dune and headland sinks the fire:

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

   Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

   Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,

Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

   Or lesser breeds without the Law—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust

   In reeking tube and iron shard,

All valiant dust that builds on dust,

   And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,

For frantic boast and foolish word—

Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!

- Rudyard Kipling

The Housman poem is from 1887, reflecting the actual meaning of "jubilee" (a fifty-year festival) going back to the Mosaic law. The Kipling poem is from 1897: Victoria was the first English monarch to pass the fifty-year mark (Edward III just managed 50 years). Elizabeth has passed both.

The current monarchy is a bit of a paradox: the great advantage of a monarchy in a parliamentary democracy is that the head of state is not appointed by the government and is in no way beholden to it, providing an independent check on extreme misuse of power. (The risks of a weak head of state can be seen in the facedown of Michaelle Jean by Stephen Harper.) But we want that check only in extremis; in day to day life we want the monarch to be a figurehead only.