ANTE-MORTEM by M. J. Preston

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · April 8, 1880

FromThe Review and Herald, Vol. 55, No. 15

ANTE-MORTEM

By M. J. Preston

How much would I care for it, could I know That when I am under the grass or snow, The raveled garment of life's brief day, Folded, and quietly laid away, How much do you think it would matter then What praise was lavished upon me, when, Whatever might be its stint or store, It neither could help or harm me more?

If, while I was toiling, they had but thought To stretch a finger, I would have caught Gladly such aid to buoy me through Some bitter duty I had to do; Though when it was done, they said (may be, To others—they never said to me— The word of applause so craved, whose worth Had been the supremest boon on earth If granted me then), “We are proud to know That one of ourselves has triumphed so.”

What use for the rope, if it be not flung Till the swimmer’s grasp to the rock has clung? What help in a comrade’s bugle-blast, When the peril of Alpine height is past? What need that the spurring paean roll When the runner is safe beyond the goal? What worth in eulogy’s blandest breath, When whispered in ears that are hushed in death? No! no! if you have but a word of cheer, Speak it while I am alive to hear. —M. J. Preston.