Mukden, March 6Th, 1905

Ye that with me have fought and failed and fought To the last desperate trench of battle's crest, Not yet to sleep, not yet; our work is nought; On that last trench the fate of all may rest, Draw near, my friends; and let your thoughts be high; Great hearts are glad when it is time to give; Life is no life to him that dares not die, And death no death to him that dares to live.

Draw near together; none be last or first; We are no longer names, but one desire; With the same burning of the soul we thirst, And the same wine to-night shall quench our fire. Drink! to our fathers who begot us men, To the dead voices that are never dumb; Then to the land of all our loves, and then To the long parting, and the age to come.

Clifton Chapel

This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts of youth, And heard the words that one by one The touch of Life has turned to truth. Here in a day that is not far, You too may speak with noble ghosts Of manhood and the vows of war You made before the Lord of Hosts.

To set the cause above renown, To love the game beyond the prize, To honour, while you strike him down, The foe that comes with fearless eyes; To count the life of battle good, And dear the land that gave you birth, And dearer yet the brotherhood That binds the brave of all the earth--

My son, the oath is yours; the end Is His, Who built the world of strife, Who gave His children Pain for friend, And Death for surest hope of life.

To-day and here the fight's begun, Of the great fellowship you're free; Henceforth the School and you are one, And what You are, the race shall be.

God send you fortune: yet be sure, Among the lights that gleam and pass, You'll live to follow none more pure Than that which glows on yonder brass. "Que procul hinc," the legend's writ,-- The frontier-grave is far away-- "Qui ante diem periit: Sed miles, sed pro patriâ."

Vitaï Lampada

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night-- Ten to make and the match to win-- A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in. And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote-- "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red,-- Red with the wreck of a square that broke;-- The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead, And the regiment blind with dust and smoke. The river of death has brimmed his banks, And England's far, and Honour a name, But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks: "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

This is the word that year by year, While in her place the School is set, Every one of her sons must hear, And none that hears it dare forget.

This they all with a joyful mind Bear through life like a torch in flame, And falling fling to the host behind-- "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The Vigil

England! where the sacred flame Burns before the inmost shrine, Where the lips that love thy name Consecrate their hopes and thine, Where the banners of thy dead Weave their shadows overhead, Watch beside thine arms to-night, Pray that God defend the Right.

Think that when to-morrow comes War shall claim command of all, Thou must hear the roll of drums, Thou must hear the trumpet's call. Now before they silence ruth, Commune with the voice of truth; England! on thy knees to-night Pray that God defend the Right.

Hast thou counted up the cost, What to foeman, what to friend? Glory sought is Honour lost, How should this be knighthood's end?

Know'st thou what is Hatred's meed? What the surest gain of Greed? England! wilt thou dare to-night Pray that God defend the Right?

Single-hearted, unafraid, Hither all thy heroes came, On this altar's steps were laid Gordon's life and Outram's fame. England! if thy will be yet By their great example set, Here beside thine arms to-night Pray that God defend the Right.

So shalt thou when morning comes Rise to conquer or to fall, Joyful hear the rolling drums, Joyful hear the trumpets call. Then let Memory tell thy heart; "England! what thou wert, thou art!" Gird thee with thine ancient might, Forth! and God defend the Right!

The Sailing of the Long-ships