How
Did You Die? By Edmund Vance Cooke
Did
you tackle that trouble that came your way
With
a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or
hide your face from the light of day
With
a craven soul and fearful?
Oh,
a trouble’s a ton, or a trouble’s and ounce,
Or a
trouble is what you make it,
And
it isn’t the fact that you’re hurt that counts,
But
only how did you take it?
You
are beaten to earth? Well, well, what’s that?
Come
up with a smiling face.
It’s
nothing against you to fall down flat,
But
to lie there --- that’s disgrace.
The
harder you’re thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be
proud of your blackened eye!
It
isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts,
It’s
how did you fight—and why?
And
though you be done to the death, what then?
If
you battled the best you could,
If
you played your part in the world of men,
Why,
the Critic will call it good.
Death
comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And
whether he’s slow or spry,
It
isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,
But
only how did you die?
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