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IIIWhen I am dead make no moan O'er my unfulfilled hopes of renown, Nor regret that the seeds I had sown Never grew, or by storms were struck down; You may say that I kept to the last My hate of oppression and wrong; That to faith in the truth I held fast, And loved ever the wise, not the strong.
IVYet when I am dead you may weep If you will, a few tears of relief, Not too bitter, or burning, or deep— Just a sign of unmurmuring grief: And then you shall say—Let him rest; He strove though he did not attain; He suffered, yet was not unblest: Unflinching he fought life's campaign.
July 1901

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