It's football, baseball, auto, yacht,
It's where men ride or shoot or row,
It's golf or tennis or what not—
There's just one thing we want to know.
In city, village, wilderness,
On mountain-top, on ocean shore,
Americans insanely press
One hot inquiry, "What's the score?"
And just the same where Business rules
His eager minions clamorous,
The rash, the prudent, sages, fools,
No other fact will do for us.
We do not ask his course of trade,
Or fair, or tricks, or something more;
But only ask how much he made,
His total plunder, "What's the score?"
And just the same in high reforms,
Where men contend with rampant sin,
And struggle in a thousand storms,
And fight great foes, without, within,
We do not note their zeal complete,
Their patience, courage, sorrow sore;
But only note success, defeat,
Their patent progress, "What's the score?"
In heaven other questions rise,
And happily on earth some day
We shall behold with clearer eyes,
And measure life a better way.
We shall regard how difficult
And true the course men struggle o'er,
Nor only ask the crude result,
The open outcome, "What's the score?"