Author: Sir Henry Newbolt

This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts of youth, And heard the words that one […]

It fell in the year of Mutiny, At darkest of the night, John Nicholson by Jalбndhar came, On his way […]

With failing feet and shoulders bowed Beneath the weight of happier days, He lagged among the heedless crowd, Or crept […]

There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night Ten to make and the match to win A bumping pitch and […]