In the Day’s When We Are Dead

Listen! The end draws nearer, Nearer the morning or night And I see with a vision clearer That the beginning was right! These shall be words to remember When all has been done and said, And my fame is a dying ember In the days when I am dead. Listen! We wrote in sorrow, And we wrote by candle light; We took no heed of the morrow, And I think that we were right (To-morrow, but not the day after, And I think that we were right). We wrote of a world that was human And we wrote of blood that was red, For a child, or a man, or a woman Remember when we are dead. Listen! We wrote not for money, And listen! We wrote not for fame We wrote for the milk and the honey Of Kindness, and not for a name. We paused not, nor faltered for any, Though many fell back where we led; We wrote of the few for the many Remember when we are dead. We suffered as few men suffer, Yet laughed as few men laugh; We grin as the road grows rougher, And a bitterer cup we quaff. We lived for Right and for Laughter, And we fought for a Nation ahead Remember it, friends, hereafter, In the years when I am dead For to-morrow and not the day after, For ourselves, and a Nation ahead.