Though no high-hung bells or din 
of braggart bugles cry it in 
What is sound? Nature's round 
Makes the Silver Jubilee. 

Five and twenty years have run 
Since sacred fountains to the sun 
Sprang,that but now were shut, 
Showering Silver Jubilee. 

Feasts,When we shall fall asleep, 
Shrewsbury may see others keep: 
None but you,this her true, 
This her Silver Jubilee. 

Not today we need lament 
Your wealth of life is some way spent: 
Toil has shed round your head 
Silver but for Jubilee. 

Then for her whose velvet vales 
Should have pealed with welcome, 
Wales Let the chime of a rhyme 
Utter Silver Jubilee.