Praise thou with praise unending, <br />The Master of the Wine; <br />To all their portions sending <br />Himself he mingled thine: <br /> <br />The sea-born flush of morning, <br />The sea-born hush of night, <br />The East wind comfort scorning, <br />And the North wind driving right: <br /> <br />The world for gain and giving, <br />The game for man and boy, <br />The life that joys in living, <br />The faith that lives in joy.<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/england-7/
