Words by James Beattie, Music by S. Warren

MADRAS COLLEGE SONG

Come, let us raise in full acclaim
Our song of old Madras,
Come let us sing her honoured name,
Her doughty deeds, her mighty fame,
Come, let the chorus pass
From heart to heart—let all unite,
Ring out her praise with main and might.

Chorus—Then a hip! hip! hurrah for the College,
And a cheer for the white and the blue,
For none can surpass
The dear old Madras
With her sons so sturdy and true.

II.
Full many a "don" within her walls
First drank of learning's fount,
The "classic" rare from Oxford halls,
The "wrangler" keen in Cambridge stalls,
Her loyal sons we count;—
And proudly smiles the proud St. Rule,
Such glory brings our grand old school.
Chorus—

III.
(For Boys) Come, sing the triumphs of the field—
Our stalwart Rugby men,
When shock met shock and forwards reeled,
They knew not what it was to yield,
But rallied once again;
Come, sing our gallant cricket team,
Long may they wield the bat supreme!
Chorus—

III.
(For Girls) Come, let us sing with gladsome strain
The pleasures of the lawn,
Where games of love their court maintain,
Where beauty holds her sportive reign,
Sweet as the smiling dawn—
Come, sing then, girls, sing one and all
There's health and joy in the bounding ball.
Chorus—

IV.
Our Alma Mater shall we sing
When years have flown away—
When boyhood's echoes round us ring
And haunting memories softly bring
Our class mates at their play—
We'll live our school-days o'er again,
We'll sing the dear old College then.
Chorus—With a hip! hip! hurrah, &c.

A second school song appeared in the Madras College Magazine for June 1940

The School Song.

Where hooded friars chanted
Their orisons of old,
On storied soil still haunted
By memories untold,
The flame of life burns ever
And love of good and truth
Spurs on to high endeavour
The hopes and strength of youth.

The wings that first were spread here
Now soar the wide world round,
And courage finely bred here
When days are dark is found.
In Life's design increasing
Madras still plays her part,
Still offers gifts unceasing
Of brain and brawn and heart.

The steps that once rang loudly
Among the cloisters grey
Are still ; and we as proudly
Fill full our fleeting day.
May those whose steps ring later
When we in turn must pass
Hand on still great and greater
The honour of Madras.