INSCRIPTION FOR A ROLL OF HONOUR IN A PUBLIC SCHOOL
Since to die nobly is Life's act supreme, And since our best and dearest thus have died, Across our cloud of grief a solemn gleam Of joy has struck, and all our tears are dried.
For these men to keep pure their country's fame Against great odds fell fighting to the death, God give us grace who here bear on their name To grow more like them with each proud-drawn breath.
On an Irish Cross in memory of Charles Graves, Bishop of Limerick
To God his steadfast soul, his starry mind To Science, a gracious heart to kin and kind, He living gave. Therefore let each fair bloom Of Faith and Hope breathe balsam o'er his tomb.
We thought to speed our earthly King Triumphant on his way Unto his solemn Sacreing Before Thy throne to-day; His royal robes were wrought, prepared His sceptre, orb and crown, And all earth's Princes here repaired To heighten his renown; When, hurtling out of bluest Heaven, Thy bolt upon us fell; Our head is pierced, our heart is riven, Struck dumb the Minster bell. Yet flags still flutter far and wide; The league-long garlands glow, Still London wears her gala pride Above a breast of woe. Lord shall these laughing leaves and flowers Their joyful use forget? Nay, on this stricken realm of ours Have Thou compassion yet.
Long years ago our Edward lay Thus fighting for his breath, Yet to such prayers as now we pray Thou gavest him back from death. Then o'er the tempest of his pain, His cry of perishing thrill, Let Thy right arm go forth again, Thy saving "Peace! be still!" Until to all his strength restored Thy Spirit lead Him down, In solemn state, Almighty Lord, To take from Thee his crown.
(A Christmas carol from the Scotch Gaelic)
This is now the blessed morn, When was born the Virgin's Son, Who from heights of glorious worth, Unto earth His way has won; All the heav'ns grow bright to greet Him, Forth to meet Him, ev'ry one!
All hail! let there be joy! All hail! let there be joy!
Mountains praise, with purple splendour, Plains, with tender tints, the morn; Shout, ye waves, with prophesying Voices crying, "Christ is born! Christ, the Son of heav'n's High King, Therefore sing no more forlorn!"
All hail! let there be joy! All hail! let there be joy!
