Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was read more

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

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
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Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
Heart within and God o'erhead.

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls.

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls.

Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still like muffled drums are beating read more

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.

The human voice is the organ of the soul.

The human voice is the organ of the soul.