Game called across the field of play
The dusk has come, the hour is late
The fight is done and lost or won
the players file out through the gate.

The tumult dies, the cheer is hushed
The stands are bare, the park is still
but through the night there shines a light
home beyond the silent hill.

Game called. Where in the golden light
the bugle rolls the reveille
The shadows creep where night falls deep
and taps has called the end of play.

The game is done. The score is in.
The final jeer and cheer have passed
but in the night beyond the fight
the player finds his rest at last.

Game called upon the field of life
The darkness gathers far and wide
The dream is done, the score is spun
That stands forever in the guide.

Nor victory nor yet defeat
is chalked against  the player's name,
but down the roll the final scroll
shows only how he played the game.

Grantland Rice