Base-Ball Ballads/The Record
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 knowThe way of the fight, The fate of the foe;And the cheer that passed From applauding bandsIs 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 deepAnd 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.