Poems (Elliott)/The Battle Hymn of the I. H. S.
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But brave Gallagher, the agile, wards them off and lifts the score,
Then our foes, all unintending, their most brainless foul commit,
When the ball to Burns is handed, as the hero now most fit,
And he shoots it in the basket while the startled rooters yell
At this victory unexpected, which our little Burns befell.
Forward then our gallant Captain, quite undaunted, joins the fray,
Shooting balls into the basket in his own peculiar way—
Till the referee is speechless and the gym's old rafters ring
With the chorus that Detweiler and we joyous rooters sing:
The Battle Hymn of the I. H. S.
Dedicated to the Basketball Team—1916
Our eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the team,
They are hustling to'ard the center while the happy rooters scream,
But the players stop reluctant, at the whistling referee,
For it happens most untimely that Young Wager's banged his knee.
Now they're on again and hustling "for the honor of the school,"
Trying hard to play obedient to the 1916 rule—
But now over in the doorway, Mr. Bush begins to prance,
While a basket is attempted by our blond and noble Hance.
Oh! Look! He makes the basket and one own Detweiler yells
And loud and louder through the Gym the "fighting" echo swells,
They are hustling to'ard the center while the happy rooters scream,
But the players stop reluctant, at the whistling referee,
For it happens most untimely that Young Wager's banged his knee.
Now they're on again and hustling "for the honor of the school,"
Trying hard to play obedient to the 1916 rule—
But now over in the doorway, Mr. Bush begins to prance,
While a basket is attempted by our blond and noble Hance.
Oh! Look! He makes the basket and one own Detweiler yells
And loud and louder through the Gym the "fighting" echo swells,
While the boys go fighting on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
The boys go fighting on!
Now our enemies attack us, feeling somewhat stiff and sore, Glory, glory, hallelujah!
The boys go fighting on!
But brave Gallagher, the agile, wards them off and lifts the score,
Then our foes, all unintending, their most brainless foul commit,
When the ball to Burns is handed, as the hero now most fit,
And he shoots it in the basket while the startled rooters yell
At this victory unexpected, which our little Burns befell.
Forward then our gallant Captain, quite undaunted, joins the fray,
Shooting balls into the basket in his own peculiar way—
Till the referee is speechless and the gym's old rafters ring
With the chorus that Detweiler and we joyous rooters sing:
While the boys go winning on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
The boys go winning on!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
The boys go winning on!
Victory, victory, all their efforts bless
For the gallant players of our I. H. S.! !
For the gallant players of our I. H. S.! !