A Psalm of Life

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
The Psalmist.
Be a hero in the strife!
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Life is but an empty dream!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
Act,— act in the living Present!
And things are not what they seem.
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Life is real! Life is earnest!

Lives of great men all remind us
And the grave is not its goal;
We can make our lives sublime,
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
And, departing, leave behind us
Was not spoken of the soul.
Footprints on the sands of time;

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Is our destined end or way;
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
But to act, that each to-morrow
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Find us farther than to-day.
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

Let us, then, be up and doing,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
With a heart for any fate;
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Funeral marches to the grave.
Learn to labor and to wait.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,