Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer; The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, For the soul is dead that slumbers, Life is real! Life is earnest ! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, In the world's broad field of battle, Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Lives of great men all remind us And the mother gave, in tears and pain. The flowers she most did love. She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer; The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, In the world's broad field of battle, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Lives of great men all remind us And the mother gave, in tears and pain. The flowers she most did love: She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. Voices of the night P 49 |