You ask me for a toast to-night
In this familiar hall,
Where well-known objects greet the sight,
And boyhood’s day recall.

«Some honoured name,» I think you said,
But what have I to say?
The King, the Services, the Head,
The heroes of the day-

To each with joyous shouts and pride
Has loud acclaim been paid;
Forgive me, if I turn aside
From sunshine into shade.

For now a shadow-throng I see,
From seats long vacant rise,
A faint reproach there seems to be
In their world-weary eyes.

Their voices cross our song and jest
From camp and field and town –
The men who did their level best,
Yet never won renown.

Amongst the nameless dead they lie
In unrecorded graves;
And o’er their memory roll high
The world’s oblivious waves,

Yet though the school they loved so well
No more records their name,
Though on their brows there may not dwell
A crown of earthly fame,

Though on life’s battlefield their part
Was not to gain the prize,
Still deep in some old comrade’s heart
Enshrined their memory lies.

I give to-night no foremost name,
I give no honoured guest;
I think of those unknown to fame,
I give «The Second Best.»