A Psalm Of
Life
Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but
an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are
not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the
grave is not its goal; Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest, Was
not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our
destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther
than today.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts,
though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are
beating Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field
of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven
cattle! Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er
pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, - act in the living
Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all
remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave
behind us Footprints on the sand of time;
Footprints, that
perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solenm main, A forlorn and
shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us
then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving,
still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
Poem lyrics of A
Psalm Of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. All rights
reserved.
|