(no subject)

[girlworstfriend]

Tell me not in mounful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead the slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is ernest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust retunest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomarrow
Finds us farther then today.

Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave.
 Still, like muffeled drums, are beating
Funeral marcg to the grave.

In the world's broad feild 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!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act- act in the living preasent!
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,
Within a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labo and to wait.