by: Henry Newbolt (1862-1938)
POEMS BY HENRY NEWBOLT
- HIS 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 turn'd 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.'