When I am dead, if men can say,
I helped the world upon its way;
With all my faults of word and deed
Mankind did have some little need
For what I’ve done—then in my grave
No greater honor shall I crave.
If they can say—if they but can—
“He did his best, he played the man,
His ways were straight; his soul was clean;
His failings not unkind nor mean.
He loved his fellow man and tried
To help him”—I’ll be satisfied.
But when I’m gone, if only one
Will weep because my life is gone
And feel the world is somewhat bare
Because I am no longer there—
Call me a knave, my life misspent—
No matter. I shall be content.