A Toast Worth While
Ye may drink if ye will to the star of renown
Who is listed far over the mass,
Who has planted his name on the hallway of fame
At a height which no other can pass.
I will take off my hat to a player like that—
He is worthy of plaudits, I know—
And none can refuse to extend him his dues,
And we’ll bow down to him in a row.
But come; fill your glasses, my lads and my lasses—
A toast as the wine drops run:
“And here’s to the fellow who plays the game and sticks till the game is done.”
Ye may drink, if ye will, to the brilliant brigade
And the hair-raising chances they take;
To their wonderful stops and their fast-breaking drops,
And the one-handed catches they make.
They are worthy of fame, for they light up the game,
And it’s right that their luster should grow;
And none can refuse to extend them their dues,
And we’ll bow down to them in a row.
Then, ho! fill your glasses, my lads and my lasses—
A toast as the red drops run:
“And here’s to the fellow who plays the game and sticks till the game is done.”
It doesn’t count much at the tale’s far end
Whether victory cometh or not,
If but early and late we will stand to the plate,
And give ’em the best we have got;
If we’ll keep up the fight till the end is in sight
And never give up, though we tire—
Although out of breath, we’ll “be in at the death”
With a pretty fair lead at the wire.
So up with your glasses, my lads and my lasses—
A toast as the wine drops run:
“And here’s to the fellow who plays the game and sticks till the game is done.”