The poem
To James First Bishop of Shrewsbury on the 25th Year of his Episcopate July 28. 1876
1
THOUGH no high-hung bells or din Of braggart bugles cry it in— What is sound? Nature's round Makes the Silver Jubilee.
2
Five and twenty years have run Since sacred fountains to the sun Sprang, that but now were shut, Showering Silver Jubilee.
3
Feasts, when we shall fall asleep, Shrewsbury may see others keep; None but you this her true, This her Silver Jubilee.
4
Not today we need lament Your wealth of life is some way spent: Toil has shed round your head Silver but for Jubilee.
5
Then for her whose velvet vales Should have pealed with welcome, Wales, Let the chime of a rhyme Utter Silver Jubilee.