A teacher at school, Mr. Roberts shared this poem with me. It describes the purpose of life, and how one should handle the sorrow and struggles along the way.
The poem begins with the speaker contradicting a listener who wants to explain life to him as a matter of number and figures. The rest of the poem is dedicated to the speaker trying to prove this unknown person wrong. He describes the way in which he believes that no matter what death brings, the soul will never be destroyed. Because of this, it is important to do all one can in life to make one’s situation, and that of others, better.
The speaker comes to the conclusion that he, and the listener, must be prepared at any time for death, strife, or any trouble thrown at them. They must face life, and make the best of every day. I think it's beautifully written.
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
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.
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
