The H. C. S.

In Gayton vale beneath the famous Hill
There stands a school whose pulse is never still;
Wherein the stream of Youth flows ever on,
And years bring no regret for what is gone.


Oh!  We are boys of the H. C. S., A merry lot of boys are we.
We're all true sports, as you may guess,
For our life is jolly and free.
We run right on with wills right strong
When once fron the mark we've started.
The track is long, things may go wrong,
But we never are down hearted.
Never, never, never, never, never are down hearted.

At 9.15 we stand in fine array,
And then file off in mental tasks each day.
We swell our chests, and turn to left or right:
The Guards themselves are not a finer sight,
        For!  We are boys, etc.

In corridors we move in single file,
And hold ourselves erect in martial style.
At least we do if gowns themselves display;
If not, why then we go our own sweet way.
        For!  We are boys, etc.

(five more verses)

Music by George Thorn, words by Anon.

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