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Poem by Henry Newbolt
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.
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