If through the years we're not to do Much finer deeds than we have done; If we must merely wander through Time's garden, idling in the sun; If there is nothing big ahead, Why do we fear to join the dead? Unless to-morrow means that we Shall do some needed service here; That tasks are waiting you and me That will be lost, save we appear; Then why this dreadful thought of sorrow That we may never see to-morrow? If all our finest deeds are done, And all our splendor's in the past; If there's no battle to be won, What matter if to-day's our last? Is life so sweet that we would live Though nothing back to life we give? It is not greatness to have clung To life through eighty fruitless years; The man who dies in action, young, Deserves our praises and our cheers, Who ventures all for one great deed And gives his life to serve life's need. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE DOLL by EDITH SITWELL AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL by KATHARINE LEE BATES A RED, RED ROSE by ROBERT BURNS FRAGMENT OF A CHORUS OF A DEJANEIRA by MATTHEW ARNOLD EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 28. LOVE'S TRIUMPH OVER RICHES by PHILIP AYRES THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE BALLAD OF BAZILE BORGNE by IDA COLE BARTLATT TEMPORALL SUCCESS by JOSEPH BEAUMONT OLD AND NEW; THE CENTURY ASSOCIATION, 1847-1897 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |