Before Death

I How much would I care for it, could I know That when I am under the grass or snow, The ravelled garment of life's brief day Folded, and quietly laid away; The spirit let loose from mortal bars, And somewhere away among the stars: How much would you think it would matter then What praise was lavished upon me, when, Whatever might be its stint or store, It neither could help nor harm me more? II If midst of my toil they had but thought To stretch a finger, I would have caught Gladly such aid, to bear me through Some bitter duty I had to do: And when it was done, had I but heard One breath of applause, one cheering word, One cry of 'Courage!' amid the strife, So weighted for me, with death or life, How would it have nerved my soul to strain Through the whirl of the coming surge again! III What use for the rope, if it be not flung Till the swimmer's grasp to the rock has clung? What help in a comrade's bugle-blast When the peril of Alpine heights is past? What need that the spurring pæan roll When the runner is safe beyond the goal? What worth is eulogy's blandest breath When whispered in ears that are hushed in death? No! no! if you have but a word of cheer, Speak it, while I am alive to hear!