Vitai Lampada

<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN> <p id="id00223" style="margin-top: 5em">Vitaï Lampada</p> <p id="id00224">There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night—-<br/> Ten to make and the match to win—-<br/> A bumping pitch and a blinding light,<br/> An hour to play and the last man in.<br/> And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,<br/> Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,<br/> But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote—-<br/> "Play up! play up! and play the game!"<br/></p> <p id="id00225">The sand of the desert is sodden red,—-<br/> Red with the wreck of a square that broke;—-<br/> The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,<br/> And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.<br/> The river of death has brimmed his banks,<br/> And England's far, and Honour a name,<br/> But the voice of schoolboy rallies the ranks,<br/> "Play up! play up! and play the game!"<br/></p> <p id="id00226">This is the word that year by year,<br/> While in her place the School is set,<br/> Every one of her sons must hear,<br/> And none that hears it dare forget.<br/> This they all with a joyful mind<br/> Bear through life like a torch in flame,<br/> And falling fling to the host behind—-<br/> "Play up! play up! and play the game!"<br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />