tell me not, in mournful numbers1, 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 goal2; "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 find us farther than to-day.
art is long3, and time is fleeting,
and our hearts, though stout and brave,
1numbers: verses.
2the grave is not its goal: death is not the end.
3art is long, &c: time is too short for more than the important work of life to be well accomplished.
still, like muffled drums1, are beating funeral marches to the grave.
in the world"s broad field of battle,
in the bivouac of life2,
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 usfootprints on the sands of time3,-footprints that perhaps another, sailing o"er life"s solemn main4,a forlorn and shipwrecked brother, seeing, shall take heart again.
1muffled drums: drums covered to deaden the sound.
2bivouac of life: life is here compared to an army in camp, but quite ready for action.
3footprints on the sands of time: good examples set to guide those who follow. 4 life"s solemn main: life is here compared to a vast and impressive ocean.
let us, then, be up and doing, with a heart for any fate; still achieving, still pursuing,learn to labour and to wait.
-h. w. longfellow
