"O Youth," the preacher was crying, "deem not thou Thy life is thine alone; Thou bearest the will of the ages, seeing how They built thee bone by bone, And within thy blood the Great Age sleeps sepulchred Till thou and thine shall roll away the stone. "Therefore the days are coming when thou shalt burn With passion whitely hot; Rest shall be rest no more; thy feet shall spurn All that thy hand hath got; And One that is stronger shall gird thee, and lead thee swiftly Whither, O heart of Youth, thou wouldest not." And the School passed; and I saw the living and dead Set in their seats again, And I longed to hear them speak of the word that was said, But I knew that I longed in vain. And they stretched forth their hands, and the wind of the spirit took them Lightly as drifted leaves on an endless plain. {99} _The Echo_ OF A BALLAD SUNG BY H. PLUNKET GREENE TO HIS OLD SCHOOL Twice three hundred boys were we, _Long ago, long ago,_ Where the Downs look out to the Severn Sea. _Clifton for aye!_ We held by the game and hailed the team, For many could play where few could dream. _City of Song shall stand alway._ Some were for profit and some for pride, _Long ago, long ago,_ Some for the flag they lived and died. _Clifton for aye!_ The work of the world must still be done, And minds are many though truth be one. _City of Song shall stand alway._ But a lad there was to his fellows sang, _Long ago, long ago,_ And soon the world to his music rang. _Clifton for aye!_ {100} Follow your Captains, crown your Kings, But what will ye give to the lad that sings? _City of Song shall stand alway._ For the voice ye hear is the voice of home, _Long ago, long ago,_ And the voice of Youth with the world to roam. _Clifton for aye!_ The voice of passion and human tears, And the voice of the vision that lights the years. _City of Song shall stand alway._ {101} _The Best School of All_ It's good to see the School we knew, The land of youth and dream, To greet again the rule we knew Before we took the stream: Though long we've missed the sight of her, Our hearts may not forget; We've lost the old delight of her, We keep her honour yet. _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._ The stars and sounding vanities That half the crowd bewitch, What are they but inanities To him that treads the pitch? {102} And where's the wealth, I'm wondering, Could buy the cheers that roll When the last charge goes thundering Beneath the twilight goal?