The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;

The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play;

And so, when Cooney died at first, and Burrows did the same,

A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

* * * * *

They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that,

They'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey as did also Jimmy Blake,

And the former was a pudding and the later was a fake;

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,

And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;

* * * * *

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,

There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face;

And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,

No stranger in the crowd could doubt t'was Casey at the bat.

And now the leather covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there;

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped.

"That ain't my style," said Casey "Strike one," the umpire said.

* * * * *

"Kill him! Kill the umpire;" shouted someone on the stand,

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

* * * * *

He signalled to the pitcher and once more the spheroid flew,

But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two."

The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, 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.

Casey has struck out.

*Reprinted in part from edition published by G. Shirmer, New York.