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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419086" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Three Graves</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">HOW did he live, this dead man here, <br>With the temple above his grave? <br>He lived as a great one, from cradle to bier <br>He was nursed in luxury, trained in pride, <br>When the wish was born, it was gratified; <br>Without thanks he took, without heed he gave. <br>The common man was to him a clod <br>From whom he was far as a demigod. <br>His duties? To see that his rents were paid; <br>His pleasure? To know that the crowd obeyed. <br>His pulse, if you felt it, throbbed apart, <br>With a separate stroke from the people's heart. <br>But whom did he love, and whom did he bless? <br>Was the life of him more than a man's, or less? <br>I know not. He died. There was none to blame, <br>And as few to weep; but these marbles came <br>For the temple that rose to preserve his name! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How did he live, that other dead man, <br>From the graves apart and alone? <br>As a great one, too? Yes, this was one <br>Who lived to labor and study and plan. <br>The earth's deep thought he loved to reveal; <br>He banded the breast of the land with steel; <br>The thread of his toil he never broke;<br>He filled the cities with wheels and smoke,<br>And workers by day and workers by night,<br>For the day was too short for his vigor's flight.<br>Too firm was he to be feeling and giving:<br>For labor, for gain, was a life worth living.<br>He worshiped Industry, dreamt of her, sighed for her.<br>Potent he grew by her, famous he died for her.<br>They say he improved the world in his time,<br>That his mills and mines were a work sublime.<br>When he died—the laborers rested, and sighed;<br>Which was it—because he had lived, or died?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And how did he live, that dead man there,<br>In the country churchyard laid?<br>O, he? He came for the sweet field air;<br>He was tired of the town, and he took no pride<br>In its fashion or fame. He returned and died<br>In the place he loved, where a child he played<br>With those who have knelt by his grave and prayed.<br>He ruled no serfs, and he knew no pride;<br>He was one with the workers side by side;<br>He hated a mill, and a mine, and a town,<br>With their fever of misery, struggle, renown;<br>He could never believe but a man was made<br>For a nobler end than- the glory of trade.<br>For the youth he mourned with an endless pity<br>Who were cast like snow on the streets of the city.<br>He was weak, maybe; but he lost no friend;<br>Who loved him once, loved on to the end.<br>He mourned all selfish and shrewd endeavor;<br>But he never injured a weak one—never.<br>When censure was passed, he was kindly dumb;<br>He was never so wise but a fault would come;<br>He was never so old that he failed to enjoy<br>The games and the dreams he had loved when a boy.<br>He erred, and was sorry; but never drew<br>A trusting heart from the pure and true.<br>When friends look back from the years to be, <br>God grant they may say such things of me.</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=419086" data-title="Three Graves de John Boyle O'Reilly" data-description="HOW did he live, this dead man here, 
With the temple above his grave? 
He lived as a great one, from cradle to bier 
He was nursed in luxury, trained in pride, 
When the wish was born, it was gratified; 
Without thanks he took, without heed he ga..."></div>
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