THE 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 tomorrow

Finds 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'ver pleasant!

Let the dead past bury its dead!

Act,- act in a 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,

Footprints on the sand of time.

Footprints, that perhaps another;

Sailing o'er lifes solemn main,

A forlorn and ship wrecked brother,

Seeing, shll take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart of any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing

Learn to labor and to wait.

 -HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW