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: 
“Qui procul hinc,” the legend’s writ,—–­
  The frontier-grave is far away—–­
“Qui ante diem periit: 
  Sed miles, sed pro patria.”

Vitai 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 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.