But we may face the centuries,
And dare the deepending tide:
for though the dust that's part of us,
To dust again be gone,
Yet here shall beat the heart of us---
The school we handed on!

We'll honour yet the school we knew,
The best school of all:
We'll honour yet the rule we knew,
Till the last bell call.
For working days or holidays,
And glad or melancholy days,
They were great days and jolly days
At the best school of all.





England

Praise thou with praise unending,
The Master of the Wine;
To all their portions sending
Himself he mingled thine:

The sea-born flush of morning,
The sea-born hush of night,
The East wind comfort scorning,