A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.
About the fence in center field in rapid whirling flight,
The ball sailed on; the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight.
Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, then 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.
* * *