Balmoral, Thursday afternoon
The hand that’s shaken countless other hands lies bruised and still under the counterpane. The smile that’s shone in over a hundred lands has vanished like the sun before the rain. And as it rains, a nation holds its breath, unsure of what to think, what to expect. We only know a woman’s close to death who’s always been there, who has somehow kept what we have been and what we wish to be together—who has given her all (and more) in quiet, faithful service, done her duty, and now is worn and weary to her core. Look down in mercy, King forever blessed, and take Elizabeth into your rest.
It’s been quite a week, hasn’t it? So much has already been said and there is still so much more to say. Of all that I’ve read so far, this article has resonated most and has probably informed this sonnet.
“I am among you as the one who serves”1, Jesus said, in words which, in a lesser way, could aptly be said of our Queen too. She made good on her early promise and we will always honour her for it.
Luke 22:27b (ESVUK)