MY PHILOSOPHY
Life is a game that all must play;
Though you win or lose, though you gain or pay,
Whatever the cards you hold, I say,
Throw back your head and laugh.
Keep Youth's fire at your heart aglow,
A clasp for a friend and a fist for a foe,
And then let come or joy or woe,
Throw back your head and laugh.
Laugh, though the world upon you frown,
Laugh, though the deeps your soul shall drown,
Many a better man goes down—
Throw back your head and laugh.
And when Death's hand on your shoulder lies
And the world grows dim to your failing eyes,
Let him not say: "A coward dies."
Throw back your head and laugh.
EASTER, 1917
I. M. Thomas MacDonagh
He died for thee, O mournful Mother Erin!
A year ago he turned his face away
From the glad Spring, in her young green appearing;
He lingered not to listen to the lay
Of thrush or blackbird; turned him not aside
To watch the glory of the daffodils
That shone and fluttered on a hundred hills,
But where the mists had gathered, chill and grey,
He chose his path—and died.
And now another Spring makes green the meadows,
The daffodils are golden once again,
The little winds are dancing with the shadows
The young leaves make; once more the world is fain
Of life and laughter—but he shall not see
The leaf-strewn hollows where the violets grow,
Or watch the hawthorn buds foam into snow,
No more shall feel the warm, soft, springtime rain,
For he has died for thee.