Just Folks

Living

          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.