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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419009" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>John Mitchel</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>DEAD, with his harness on him: <br>Rigid and cold and white, <br>Marking the place of the vanguard <br>Still in the ancient fight. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The climber dead on the hill-side,<br>Before the height is won: <br>The workman dead on the building, <br>Before the work is done!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, for a tongue to utter <br>The words that should be said— <br>Of his worth that was silver, living, <br>That is gold and jasper, dead! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dead—but the death was fitting:<br>His life, to the latest breath, <br>Was poured like wax on the chart of right,<br>And is sealed by the stamp of Death!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dead—but the end was fitting:<br>First in the ranks he led; <br>And he marks the height of his nation's gain,<br>As he lies in his harness—dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II.<br>Weep for him, Ireland—mother lonely;<br>Weep for the son w'ho died for thee. <br>Wayward he was, but he loved thee only,<br>Loyal and fearless as son could be.<br>Weep for him, Ireland—sorrowing nation<br>Faithful to all who are true to thee: <br>Never a son in thy desolation <br>Had holier love for thy cause than he.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—<br>Mother and son in the final test: <br>Weeping she sits in her darkened glory, <br>Holding her dead to her stricken breast. <br>Only the dead on her knees are lying— <br>Ah, poor mother beneath the cross! <br>Strength is won by the constant trying, <br>Crowns are gemmed by the tears of loss!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—<br>Mother and son to each other true: <br>She called, and he answered, old and hoary, <br>And gave her his life as a man should do. <br>She may weep—but for us no weeping: <br>Tears are vain till the work is done; <br>Tears for her—but for us the keeping <br>Our hearts as true as her faithful son.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Boyle+O%27Reilly">John Boyle O'Reilly</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=419009" data-title="John Mitchel de John Boyle O'Reilly" data-description="I.
DEAD, with his harness on him: 
Rigid and cold and white, 
Marking the place of the vanguard 
Still in the ancient fight. 

The climber dead on the hill-side,
Before the height is won: 
The workman dead on the building, 
Before the work is done..."></div>
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