We pulled for you when the wind was against us and the sails were low. Will you never let us go? - Rudyard Kipling

We have fed our sea for a thousand years
And she calls us, still unfed,
Though there's never a wave of all her waves
But marks our English dead.

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are!

I have written the tale of our life For a sheltered people's mirth,
In jesting guise—but ye are wise, And ye know what the jest is worth.