"Psalm of Life"

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.

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 End or way,

But to act that each Tomorrow

Find us farther than Today.

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.

In the World's broad field of Battle;

In the bivouac of Life

Be not 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 us

Footprints on the Sands 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 any Fate;

Still Achieving, Still Pursuing;

Learn to Labor and to Wait!!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born on February 27,

1807, in Portland, Maine. He was an American poet,

linguist, and educator. He died on March 24, 1882,

in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His poetry is

still remembered and loved.

This beautiful melody is