“Vitae Lampada“

Sir Henry Newbolt

There’s a breathless hush on the Close tonight,
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 seasons’ fame
But his Captains hand on his shoulder smote
“Play up Lad, play up and play the game “

The sands of the desert are stained blood red
Red with the wreck of a square that broke
The colonel’s dead and the Gatling’s jammed
And the Regiment’s blind with dust and smoke
The river of death has brimmed its banks
And England’s far and honour a name
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks
“Play up Lads, play up and play the game”