 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
HOW DEATH MAY MAKE A MAN
Death is a sorry plight,
It bringeth unto man
End of all delight.
Yet many a woeful wight
Only dying can
Quit him like a man.
It bringeth unto man
End of all delight.
Yet many a woeful wight
Only dying can
Quit him like a man.
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Dawdling, drawling, silly,
Maundering, scarce a man;
Driven willy-nilly;
When he's dying will he
Run as once he ran,
Or quit him like a man?
Maundering, scarce a man;
Driven willy-nilly;
When he's dying will he
Run as once he ran,
Or quit him like a man?
Vile from out the wrack
Crawls he less than man;
Cowering in his track
Beaten, broken, black;
Curse him if you can—
Death may make him man.
Crawls he less than man;
Cowering in his track
Beaten, broken, black;
Curse him if you can—
Death may make him man.
In life the wretch did naught
Worthy of a man;
Now by Death he's caught,
What a change is wrought!
Whom the world did ban
Quits life like a man.
Worthy of a man;
Now by Death he's caught,
What a change is wrought!
Whom the world did ban
Quits life like a man.
Braced stiff against the wall,
Behold, at last, a man.
Lost—life and honor, all!
At Death's quick touch and call
See, the craven can
Quit him like a man.
Behold, at last, a man.
Lost—life and honor, all!
At Death's quick touch and call
See, the craven can
Quit him like a man.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |