Fifteen yards, Twenty yards,
Eighty-seven yards rushing,
All in the valley of Irish
Smoked for five hundred.
"Forward, the Wolverines!
"Charge for the goal!" he said:
Into the valley of Irish
Drove for five hundred.

"Forward, the Wolverines!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the Irish knew
Kelly would blunder:
His not to make reply,
His not to reason why,
His but to lose and cry:
In the valley of Irish
Burned for five hundred.

Irish to right of him,
Irish to left of him,
Irish in front of him
Volley'd and sundered'd;
Storm'd at with Shaw and Smith,
Boldly he rushed and well,
Into the jaws of Irish,
Into the mouth of Hell
Drove for five hundred.

Blurr'd all his laces bare,
Blurr'd as he went to the air,
Torching the defenders there,
Charging for touchdowns, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the misty-rain
Right thro' the line he broke;
Te'o and Fleming
Reel'd from his righteous moves
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they struggled back, but not
Not for six hundred.

Irish to right of him,
Irish to left of himm,
Irish behind him
Volley'd and sunder'd;
Storm'd at with Shaw and Smith,
While defenders fell,
They that had play'd so well
Came thro' the jaws of Irish
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
With yards of five hundred.

When can his glory fade?
O the wild game he play'd!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge he made,
Honor the Wolverine,
Blazed for five hundred.