A Prayer
Lord, let me die on my feet—upright and boldly facing
My last sad great adventure and experience’s crown,
Let my eyes be all undimmed as they look into the darkness,
Let me hail death as a conqueror before he strikes me down.
Let me die with my head up, sword drawn, my shield flung from me,
Stout to the end, yet proud to win my discharge at last,
With worshipping clear gaze let me run to meet the future,
And with forgiving laughter make my farewells to the past.
Let me not die in my bed, in weariness and weakness,
While outside, undesired, unheard, all valiant nature calls,
Save me from tumbled sheets, drawn blinds, and muffled footsteps,
From staring eyes to pity me when the last anguish falls.
Lord let me die in my boots, I care not where death meets me,
But let me die upright and armed, with free unclouded mind,
Let me relish in their fullness the last moments life shall give me,
Then plunge on without vain regrets for vain things left behind.
Let me meet death on the waters, in the din of the waves’ roaring,
In the shattering of the thunder, when the splitting timbers break,
Let me meet him on the mountains, on the shrieking snow-storm riding,
I care not where he finds me, if he find me but awake.
I care not how I meet him, if I meet him as a warrior,
Not as a slave the master he has given cause to frown.
I will challenge him to combat, and when he sees me fearless,
He will hail me as a conqueror before he strikes me down.