THE GAME.

THE GAME.
479.1

When a movement you start for re- forming a town
And your motives are lofty and no ble and pure,
They’ll depict you in stripes; they will call you a clown,
There’s no end of insult you’ll have to endure.
They’ll make you account for each dollar you spend,
And lightly dismiss the excuses you frame,
You’ll be weary, discouraged and sick in the end,
But there’s no use of kicking. It’s all in the game.

Sometimes there’s a smile in this life when you win;
Sometimes there’s a tear or a sigh when you lose;
A friend turns away, and your for- tunes begin
To lose all their hopeful and го- seate hues.
For the fates, as they turn, make such plays as they will.
We are often but pawns, in oblivion or fame,
Who are moved by some mystic, su- perior skill,
Bo there’s no use of kicking. It’s all in the game.
-Washington Star.