large/12918/psalm_of_life_1902/psalmoflife_longfellow_sh_64kb_2
large/12918/psalm_of_life_1902/psalmoflife_longfellow_sh_64kb
English
12918
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 like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant 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 LIKE DUMB DRIVEN CATTLE BE A HERO IN THE STRIFE TRUST NO FUTURE HOWEVER PLEASANT
hat fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet's rhymes. From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose ; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, — From those deep cisterns flows. O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before ! Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more. Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ! Descend with broad-winged flight, The welcome ! the thrice-prayed for ! the most fair ! The best-beloved Night ! A PSALM OF LIFE. ■WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. 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. VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.  A PSALM OF LIFE BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW READ FOR LIEBER BOX DOT ORG BY SWEET HOME WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST 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 DOST 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
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