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Never was there a more wonderful day,
O the joy
of it lingers still.
Twas the 8th of June, this year of our Lord,
In
the house on top of the hill.
At early morning when the light peeped in,
We
children circled their beds.
The slumbering pair we awakened
then,
By tousling the hair on their heads.
They both sat up as we burst into song,
Our
eight voices singing with glee.
The words of which we wrote
ourselves
for the Silver Jubilee.
Father kept rubbing his eyes a great deal,
While
mother wept unashamed,
I thought my heart would bust with pride,
When
they said I would be blamed.
O the joy as we sat down to breakfast,
Our Benji
was first in his chair,
For the table was laid and breakfast
was made,
It was such a festive affair.
Then in thankfulness we all said grace,
And father
gave thanks for Mummy,
Then Mother laughed while she replied,
That
Father's love was his tummy.
The minutes passed, the hours flew,
The day was
all but spent,
Again we sang our Jubilee song,
And this is
how it went.
Now come the golden years,
Father, Mother, tried
and true,
You have carried us till now,
Now let us carry you.
Not much have we to give you,
Father, Mother,
tried and true,
But these shoulders will be strong,
Now let
us carry you.
Could I have held its Feathered wings,
I would
have held for all eternity,
The silver bird that winged its way
Toward
yet another Jubilee.
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