Praise thou with praise unending,
The Master of the Wine;
To all their portions sending
Himself he mingled thine:

The sea-born flush of morning,
The sea-born hush of night,
The East wind comfort scorning,
And the North wind driving right:

The world for gain and giving,
The game for man and boy,
The life that joys in living,
The faith that lives in joy.

by Sir Henry Newbolt

Other poems of NEWBOLT (80)

Comments (2)

I wrote a poem years ago, quite good, but for fun googled the name. found out.there are 3 others? will you be my friend did i plagiarize Sylvia or James K? I don't think its anything like theirs, but theirs are incredible as well.if someone wants to ck mine just ask for it, Signman1122@yahoo.com..Thanks, Tommy
i get it. superb. leaves your freind wondering eh!