THE irony in the death of actor Ossie Davis, of course, is that the person most qualified to deliver his eulogy is sadly unavailable.

If you ever led a people’s movement, or spoke out against war, or empowered the underclass, or fought for freedom, or made men stand up straight or took a bullet while speaking for voiceless garbagemen, there was no better man to speak at your memorial than the man who married Ruby Dee.

Just ask anyone who crowded into Harlem’s Faith Temple Church on that cold day in February, in 1965, when the masses said goodbye to one of their many martyrs.

Malcolm X had died in a hail of angry bullets, and those who were also wounded needed to hear just the right words.

“Malcolm was our manhood, our living, black manhood,” Davis said to the sad assembled crowd. “This was his meaning to his people. And, in honoring him, we honor the best in ourselves.”

Three years later, after another bullet rang out, and another strong black leader was silenced, Davis again searched within, and found more words to soothe. Martin Luther King Jr. had been assassinated the day before in Memphis, and tensions in New York were running high

“How much, America, do you expect us to bear?” Davis said at a memorial rally in Central Park. “There is no time left. For every Martin they cut down, there must be a hundred Martins to step into his shoes.”

Davis never did find his hundred. He never even found five or 10. There could only ever be one Martin. So Davis did the next best thing.

He continued being Ossie.

Often, being Ossie meant lending his name, voice and body to a cause when others were silent or invisible.

Whether he was organizing the historic 1963 March on Washington – where King gave his “I Have a Dream” speech – or trying to save the famed Apollo Theater, Davis was as dedicated to a righteous outcome as he was to getting his lines right.

“I’ve known Ossie since I was a teenager, and he has supported my efforts, sometimes alone, in the struggle for civil and human rights,” said the Rev. Al Sharpton, an activist in his own right. “Ossie was always gentle, committed and supportive.”

Sharpton recalls the months after Amadou Diallo, an unarmed immigrant, was shot to death by police on a Bronx street six years ago.

Many prominent rappers, who had decried police brutality in the lyrics they spat out over sampled beats, wouldn’t step outside their studios to actually protest against it.

But when Davis, 81 at the time, and his wife were asked to participate, they wasted no time getting arrested.

For Davis, “action” meant something more than a word from a director.

In the end, the Rev. James Forbes and the Rev. Calvin Butts, two community icons, will share officiating duties at Davis’ funeral Saturday.

Despite the challenge, their task will be somewhat easier because their subject – unlike Malcolm and Martin – lived to see 40 years. Twice.

And therein lies the answer to the hypothetical that has intrigued us for a generation: What would have become of Malcolm and Martin if they had been allowed to grow old? Chances are they would have gotten gray, and moved a little slower – two fires that still burned, but would not go out.

They would have been dismissed by some as past their prime. Yet they would have kept on walking, and kept on talking, and kept on fighting for justice and good schools until the very last breath escaped from their dying lips.

Just like Ossie.

E-mail:lgreene@nypost.com