Ye who have struggled with me in the strife, Ye who have braved the conflict, fought and bled,My comrades on the battle-field of Life, Deal with me gently after I am dead.
Remember not my many frailties, My faults and failings, though they are not few,Nay, countless as the sands beside the seas, Still would I ask forgetfulness from you.
It may be that some comrade's heart hath bled, Sore wounded by some careless shaft of mine,But let not anger live against the dead, "To err is human, to forgive Divine."
And if your wrath is fierce and fain would live, Remember that I also suffered wrong,Yet found it in my power to forgive. Though Hate is mighty, Love is still more strong.
One virtue I can surely call my own, Perchance, with it, my life has not been vain;My ears were swift to hear another's moan, My eyes were swift to weep for others' pain.
So when you breathe my name in future years Deal gently with the comrade who is gone,Remember her as one who shared your tears And felt your sorrows even as her own.
O friends! Deny me not the boon I ask, Is human wrath more dread than that of Heaven?Is pardoning a fault so great a task That man should dare refuse what God has given?
Trace all my frailties in Oblivion's sand, But grave my virtues deep on memory's shrine;When this is done by Heaven's recording hand Can human hearts refuse this prayer of mine?
