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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408842" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Jolly Dead March</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">If I ever be worthy or famous—<br>Which I’m sadly beginning to doubt—<br>When the angel whose place ’tis to name us<br>Shall say to my spirit, ‘Pass out!’<br>I wish for no sniv’lling about me<br>(My work was the work of the land),<br>But I hope that my country will shout me<br>The price of a decent brass band. <br>Thump! thump! of the drum and ‘Ta-ra-rit,’<br>Thump! thump! and the music—it’s grand,<br>If only in dreams, or in spirit,<br>To ride or march after the band!<br>And myself and my mourners go straying,<br>And strolling and drifting along<br>With a band in the front of us playing<br>The tune of an old battle song! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I ask for no ‘turn-out’ to bear me;<br>I ask not for railings or slabs,<br>And spare me! my country—oh, spare me!<br>The hearse and the long string of cabs!<br>I ask not the baton or ‘starts’ of<br>The bore with the musical ear,<br>But the music that’s blown from the hearts of<br>The men who work hard and drink beer. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And let ’em strike up ‘Annie Laurie,’<br>And let them burst out with ‘Lang Syne’—<br>Twin voices of sadness and glory,<br>That have ever been likings of mine.<br>And give the French war-hymn deep-throated<br>The Watch of the Germans between,<br>And let the last mile be devoted<br>To ‘Britannia’ and ‘Wearing the Green.’ </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if, in the end—more’s the pity—<br>There is fame more than money to spare—<br>There’s a van-man I know in the city<br>Who’ll convey me, right side up with care.<br>True sons of Australia, and noble,<br>Have gone from the long dusty way,<br>While the sole mourner fought down his trouble<br>With his pipe on the shaft of the dray.<br>But let them strike up ‘Annie Laurie,’ &c. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And my spirit will join the procession—<br>Will pause, if it may, on the brink—<br>Nor feel the least shade of depression<br>When the mourners drop out for a drink;<br>It may be a hot day in December,<br>Or a cold day in June it may be,<br>And the drink will but help them remember<br>The good points the world missed in me.<br>And help ’em to love ‘Annie Laurie,’<br>And help ’em to raise ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ &c. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Unhook the West Port’ for an orphan,<br>An old digger chorus revive—<br>If you don’t hear a whoop from the coffin,<br>I am not being buried alive.<br>But I’ll go with a spirit less bitter<br>Than mine own on the earth may have been,<br>And, perhaps, to save trouble, Saint Peter<br>Will pass me, two comrades between. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And let them strike up ‘Annie Laurie,’<br>And let ’em burst out with ‘Lang Syne,’<br>Twin voices of sadness and glory<br>That have ever been likings of mine.<br>Let them swell the French war-hymn deep-throated<br>(And I’ll not buck at ‘God Save the Queen’),<br>But let the last mile be devoted<br>To ‘Britannia’ and ‘Wearing the Green.’ </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thump! thump! of the drums we inherit—<br>War-drums of my dreams! Oh it’s grand,<br>If only in fancy or spirit,<br>To ride or march after a band!<br>And we, the World-Battlers, go straying<br>And loving and laughing along—<br>With Hope in the lead of us playing<br>The tune of a life-battle song!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408842" data-title="The Jolly Dead March de Henry Lawson" data-description="If I ever be worthy or famous—
Which I’m sadly beginning to doubt—
When the angel whose place ’tis to name us
Shall say to my spirit, ‘Pass out!’
I wish for no sniv’lling about me
(My work was the work of the land),
But I hope that m..."></div>
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