The Game
Let’s play it out—this little game called Life,
Where we are listed for so brief a spell;
Not just to win, amid the tumult rife,
Or where acclaim and gay applauses swell;
Not just to conquer where some one must lose,
Or reach the goal, whatever be the cost:
For there are other, better ways to choose,
Though in the end the battle may be lost.
Let’s play it out, as if it were a sport
Wherein the game is better than the goal,
And never mind the detailed “score’s” report
Of errors made, if each with dauntless soul
But stick it out until the day is done,
Not wasting fairness, for success or fame,
So when the battle has been lost or won
The world at least can say: “He played the Game.”
Let’s play it out—this little game called Work,
Or War or Love or what part each may draw;
Play like a man who scorns to quit or shirk
Because the break may carry some deep flaw;
Nor simply holding that the goal is all
That keeps the player in the contest staying;
But stick it out from curtain rise to fall,
As if the game itself were worth the playing.