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F veiled our eyes, their piercing sight
Can yet discern some glimmering light;
When fleeing this domain of life,
Awake, my soul, and quaff thy fill, Drink freely of that fountain-rill, Whose wave impregned with blessing flows, The Lethe of terrestrial woes — Bend lowly at thy Father's fhrine, To earth the cares of earth resign, And rise to life and joy divine ; To dwell in union with thy God, perchance, A God thyself to move in Heaven's eternal dance !
ELL 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 ;
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
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,
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be a hero in the strife!
Truft 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,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
E who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,
(Before decay's effacing fingers
JITAL spark of Heavenly flame,
Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame,
Cease, fond nature, cease thy ftrife,
Hark they whisper ; Angels say,
breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
The world recedes ; it disappears ;
With sounds seraphic ring;