The Psalm Of Life

Tell me not in mournful numbers
Life is but an empty dream
For the soul is dead that slumbers
'n' 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
Find us farther than to-day

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

Art is long and timе is fleeting
And our hearts, though stout and brave
Still, like mufflеd drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime
And, departing, leave behind us
Footsteps on the sands of-
Footprints, that perhaps another
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother
Seeing, shall take heart-
Let us, then, be up and doing
With a heart for any fate
Still achieving, still pursuing
Learn to labour and to wait