Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 35

And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised a hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on; He signaled to Sir Timothy, once more the spheroid flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud," cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"

But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.

They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate; He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate; And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout: But there is no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has struck out.

_Phineas Thayer._

Casey's Revenge

_(Being a reply to "Casey at the Bat.")_

There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more; There were muttered oaths and curses--every fan in town was sore.

"Just think," said one, "how soft it looked with Casey at the bat!

And then to think he'd go and spring a bush league trick like that."

All his past fame was forgotten; he was now a hopeless "shine."

They called him "Strike-out Casey" from the mayor down the line.

And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh, While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey's eye.

The lane is long, someone has said, that never turns again, And Fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men.

And Casey smiled--his rugged face no longer wore a frown; The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.

All Mudville has a.s.sembled; ten thousand fans had come To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the b.u.m; And when he stepped into the box the mult.i.tude went wild.

He doffed his cap in proud disdain--but Casey only smiled.

"Play ball!" the umpire's voice rang out, and then the game began; But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan Who thought that Mudville had a chance; and with the setting sun Their hopes sank low--the rival team was leading "four to one."

The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score; But when the first man up hit safe the crowd began to roar.

The din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard When the pitcher hit the second and gave "four b.a.l.l.s" to the third.

Three men on base--n.o.body out--three runs to tie the game!

A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's hall of fame.

But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night When the fourth one "fouled to catcher," and the fifth "flew out to right."

A dismal groan in chorus came--a scowl was on each face-- When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place; His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed; his teeth were clinched in hate; He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.

But fame is fleeting as the wind, and glory fades away; There were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day.

They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored, "Strike him out!"

But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard the shout.

The pitcher smiled and cut one loose; across the plate it spread; Another hiss, another groan--"Strike one!" the umpire said.

Zip! Like a shot, the second curve broke just below his knee-- "Strike two!" the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.

No roasting for the umpire now--his was an easy lot.

But here the pitcher twirled again--was that a rifle shot?

A whack; a crack; and out through s.p.a.ce the leather pellet flew-- A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.

Above the fence in center field, in rapid whirling flight The sphere sailed on; the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight.

Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit; But no one ever found the ball that mighty Casey hit!

Oh, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun, And somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun; And somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall, But Mudville hearts are happy now--for Casey hit the ball!

_James Wilson._

Rock Me to Sleep

Backward, turn backward, O time, in your flight, Make me a child again just for tonight!

Mother, come back from the echoless sh.o.r.e, Take me again to your heart as of yore; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!

I am so weary of toil and of tears,-- Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,-- Take them, and give me my childhood again!

I have grown weary of dust and decay,-- Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away; Weary of sowing for others to reap;-- Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!

Many a summer the gra.s.s has grown green, Blossomed and faded, our faces between; Yet with strong yearning and pa.s.sionate pain Long I to-night for your presence again.

Come from the silence so long and so deep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.

Over my heart, in the days that are flown, No love like mother-love ever has shone; No other worship abides and endures-- Faithful, unselfish and patient, like yours; None like a mother can charm away pain From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.

Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again as of old; Let it drop over my forehead to-night, Shading my faint eyes away from the light; For with its sunny-edged shadows once more Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long Since I last listened your lullaby song; Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem Womanhood's years have been only a dream.

Clasped to your breast in a loving embrace, With your light lashes just sweeping my face, Never hereafter to wake or to weep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.

_Elizabeth Akers Allen._

An Answer to "Rock Me to Sleep"

My child, ah, my child; thou art weary to-night, Thy spirit is sad, and dim is the light; Thou wouldst call me back from the echoless sh.o.r.e To the trials of life, to thy heart as of yore; Thou longest again for my fond loving care, For my kiss on thy cheek, for my hand on thy hair; But angels around thee their loving watch keep, And angels, my darling, will rock thee to sleep.