Tell me not, in mornfulnmbers.
"Life is but an empty dream!"
And things are not what their seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest.
And the grave is not its goal
"Dust thou art, to dust rturnest."
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 long, and time is fleeting
And our hearts, thought stout and brave.
Still, like muffled drums, are beating.
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the worlds broad fieldof battle.
In the bivouac of life.
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'evhead
Lifes of great man all reminds us.
We can make our lives sublimes.
And, departing, leave behind us.
Footprints on the sand of time.
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main.
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother.
Seeing, shall take heart again
Let us, then, be up and doing
With a heart for many fate
Still achieving, still pursuing.