By Roderick Watson Kerr
If I should die—chatter only this:—
‘A bullet flew by that did not miss!’
I did not give life up because of a friend ;
That bullet came thro’, and that was the end!
Don’t put up a cross where my dung will be laid,
But scatter some wheat—and bread will be made ;
Don’t say I’m a hero because I was shot;
A bullet won’t make one what one is not.
Don’t scribble my name upon Honour’s scroll
And plaster it up on the Churches hall:
What honour is there in being forced to die?
We slaughter a pig—but we make it a fry!
And what are the odds ‘tween the pig and I?
The pig can’t help dying—he is forced to die ;
And so with myself, when a bullet comes thro’
I simply must die—then why the ado?
Oh! if I should die—chatter only this—
‘A bullet flew by that did not miss’;
I did not give life up because of a friend;
That bullet came thro’—and voilà, the end!’