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Poem	What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist TELL me not in mournful numbers Life is but an empty dream!¡ª For the soul is dead that slumbers And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! 5 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 destined end or way; 10 But to act that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long and Time is fleeting And our hearts though stout and brave Still like muffled drums are beating 15 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! 20 Trust no Future howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act ¡ªact in the living Present! Heart within and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind us 25 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 30 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 35 Learn to labor and to wait.
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