For Baseball, Chicago, and Saint George!

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,

And rouse him at the name of All Souls.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is All Souls:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on All Soul’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Maddon the Coach, Baez and Zobrist,
Russell and Rizzo, Montero and Heyward,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And All Souls Day shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in Chicago now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon All Soul’s day.