A Psalm of Life

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	art	to	dust	returnest”
was	not	spoken	of	the	soul
Not	enjoyment	and	not	sorrow,
is	our	destined	end	or	way

But	to	act,	that	each	to-morrow
finds	us	further	than	to-day.
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’er	head!
Lives	of	great	men	all	remind	us
we	can	make	our	lives	sublime;
And,	departing,	leave	behind	us
foot-prints	on	the	sands	of	time:
Footprints	that	perhaps	another,
sailing	o’er	Life’s	solemn	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	labour	and	to	wait!
					Henry	W.	Longfellow