John Ireland - Goal and Wicket

Twice a week the winter thorough
Here stood I to keep the goal:
Football then was fighting sorrow
For the young man's soul

Now in Maytime to the wicket
Out I march with bat and pad:
See the son of grief at cricket
Trying to be glad

Try I will; no harm in trying:
Wonder 'tis how little mirth
Keeps the bones of man from lying
On the bed of earth