Base-Ball Ballads/The Record

by Grantland Rice

 

THE RECORD.

When the game is done
 And the players creep,
One by one,
 To the League of Sleep,
Deep in the night
 They may not know
The way of the fight,
 The fate of the foe;
And the cheer that passed
 From applauding bands
Is stilled at last—
 But the record stands.

The base hits made,
 And the errors wrought;
How the game was played,
 How the fight was fought;
Though the game be done
 Where the night is deep
And one by one
 From the field they creep;
Their day has passed
 Through the twilight gates,
But the scroll is cast
 And the record waits.