Sports Chorus.

Air: Huntsmen's Chorus, from "Der Freischutz."

—Weber.

When air's like wine in sunny weather,
And the breeze blows cobwebs from the brains;
When Latin's folly, Law's a tether,
And the blood goes dancing through the veins!
Then hey! For where your fancy races,
Away from the city's stifling grip,
To the playing-fields and open spaces—
And let the world of toilers slip!

Then here's to the long wide road that reckons,
The climb the baffles, the risk that nerves;
And here's to the merry heart that reckons
The rough with the smooth, and never swerves!

Be it hockey stick or oval leather,
Or skiff, or racquet, rod or gun—
Here's luck! For the sport we've had together,
For chances lost and battles won;
For the wicket true, and field in fettle,
And the man who's safe for a tingling catch;
For the losing team that shows its mettle,
And the man who wins his heat from scratch.

Then here's to the sportsman that beckons,
The climb that baffles, the risk that nerves;
And here's to the merry heart that reckons
The rough with the smooth, and never swerves!

S.S.M.