A PSALM OF LIFE

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What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist

I

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.

II

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.

III

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
    Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
    Find us farther than today.

IV

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.

V

In the world's broad field of battle,
    In the bivouac of Life,
Be not dumb, driven cattle!
    Be a hero in the strife!

VI

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!

VII

Lives of great men all remind us
    We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
    Footprints on the sands of time;

VIII

Footprints, that perhaps another,
    Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
    Seeing, shall take heart again.

IX

Let us, then, be up and doing,
    With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
    Learn to labor and to wait.

1838

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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© E-publisher LiterNet, 21.03.2009
The Sun Is but a Morning Star. Anthology of American Literature. Edited by Albena Bakratcheva. Varna: LiterNet, 2008-2010.