Gladstone, the Lion of Light

Gladstone, the Lion of Light

By welcomesweaterlocalbrand

O statesman of the steadfast gaze,

with brows carved by battles not of blood, but of ideals—

you stood where the winds of empire howled,

yet your compass pointed to justice.

Ink was your sword,

and eloquence your thunder.

In the hush of Parliament halls,

your voice stirred like fire in the hearths of change.

Four times the crown of duty called—

and four times you rose,

not for power, but for purpose,

to lift the burdened, to teach the crown humility.

Ireland heard your heart,

the poor felt your pen,

and the Empire, vast and vain,

paused at the weight of your wisdom.

No marble throne you sought,

but the people's trust—

and though storms found you,

you stood, not bowed, but blazing.

O Gladstone, time may weather the stone,

but never the soul.

In the pages of nations,

you are not forgotten—

you are ink that still speaks.