chadded
Not striking since 2004
Its timbers brave the main,
Our port shall gleam through mists of time,
And beckon back again,
Then each adventurer shall feel,
As onward strains the eager keel,
From the School beside the church and sea
The speeding wind of memory.
And some shall picture pounding ball
On turf of sodden field,
And some the fight on fiery pitch
When grit refused to yield;
And some shall think of desk and pen,
And organ-voices heard again,
And laughter ringing merrily
Adown the aisles of memory.
Here make we then, as old time men,
The pledge our souls demands:
To build as they, the best we may
The house not built with hands.
So, one with Future and with Past,
Our work in School shall live and last,
And through the centuries to be
Our School shall grow in memory.
That is all.
Our port shall gleam through mists of time,
And beckon back again,
Then each adventurer shall feel,
As onward strains the eager keel,
From the School beside the church and sea
The speeding wind of memory.
And some shall picture pounding ball
On turf of sodden field,
And some the fight on fiery pitch
When grit refused to yield;
And some shall think of desk and pen,
And organ-voices heard again,
And laughter ringing merrily
Adown the aisles of memory.
Here make we then, as old time men,
The pledge our souls demands:
To build as they, the best we may
The house not built with hands.
So, one with Future and with Past,
Our work in School shall live and last,
And through the centuries to be
Our School shall grow in memory.
That is all.