Lifes Soul

Say it and tell me, in forlorn figures & numbers,

Life is nothing but an empty shell of a dream,

For the soul that is lifeless that sleeps deep and slumbers,

Things are not how its seen,

Life is real! life is true and sincere!,

And the grave down below its not its goal,

It was not spoken of the souls,

Not enjoyment, nor sorrow,

Is our destined end or way,

But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day,

But was not spoken of the soul.

Not gratification nor sorrow,

Is our destined end or way,

But to do, that each to-morrow,

Find us further than to-day.

Art is long and time is brief and fleeting,

And our hearts, sturdy and brave,

Yet still, like silent echos of the drums, their beating,

Ceremony of the deceased that 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! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead! 

Act,�" act in the living Present! 

Heart within, and God above our heads! 

Lives of the great fallen one remind us,

We can make our lives sublime,

And parting, leave us behind us,

Foot-marks and footsteps on the sands of time.

Marks and steps, of perhaps another,

Sailing over life’s deep sincerity's main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked sister or a brother,

Seeking and finding, shall heart takes embrace again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate; 

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait. 

Author's Note

Something random.