Here you will find the Poem The True Sportsman of poet William Henry Ogilvie
The real ones, the right ones, the straight ones and the true, The pukka, peerless sportsmen-their numbers are but few; The men who keep on playing though the sun be in eclipse, The men who go on losing with a laugh upon their lips. The men who care but little for the laurels of renown; The men who turn their horses back to help the man that's down; The fearless and the friendly ones, the courtly and the kind; The men whose lion courage is with gentleness combined. My notion of a sportsman ? - I'll try, then, to define. For preference well bred, of course, of some clean- living line; With pride of place and ancestry whose service was the King's; With all a noble knight's contempt for low, left- handed things. Not the `good sport' who burdens us with cheap and futile chat Of the 'pedigree' of this one and the `outside chance' of that, But a man who loves good horses just to handle them and ride Where the fences call to valour and the English grass lies wide. All the best and truest sportsmen I have lived with and have known Have a changeless faith within them which their simple hearts enthrone, Believing in the God that made the green fields passing fair, The God that gave good courage - and to every man his share. And all the truest sportsmen I have met have had this gift: A love of all the classic books that lighten and uplift; And all have loved red woodlands, swift birds and coloured flowers; And all have played with children and counted not the hours. And I think when God has gathered all the men that He has made, The perfect British sportsman may stand forward unafraid; For, brave and kind and courtly, and clean of heart and hand, No life than his seems nearer to the life our Maker planned.