Page:The eighth sin (IA eighthsin00morlrich).pdf/24



Shotover and I are a dauntless pair (Sing as we struggle against the slope), For weather be foul or weather be fair The road is ours and we never despair (The next bend is the top, I hope!)

From Thames to Tweed, from Rhine to Scheldt (A rücksack makes a man perspire) Ride with the joy of the roving Celt, A bottle of beer beneath your belt (And plenty of air in your hinder tyre).

And Shotover knows that the rarest time (Sing of our early morning glee) Comes not when we fidget for futile rhyme, Hut after the toiling, dripping climb (And down the grade the wheel runs free).

August, 1912.