A Psalm of Life

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 1807–1882 What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist

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.
Life is real! Life is earnest!	5
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;	10
But to act, that each to-morrow
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	15
Funeral 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!	20
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!
Lives of great men all remind us	25
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,	30
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,	35
Learn to labor and to wait.

Part One: Life

Emily Dickinson CXXVI

THE BRAIN is wider than the sky,
For, put them side by side,
The one the other will include
With ease, and you beside.
The brain is deeper than the sea,	5
For, hold them, blue to blue,
The one the other will absorb,
As sponges, buckets do.
The brain is just the weight of God,
For, lift them, pound for pound,	10
And they will differ, if they do,
As syllable from sound.

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

The Soul’s Prayer

sarojini-naidu

THE SOUL’S PRAYER

In childhood’s pride I said to Thee:

‘O Thou, who mad’st me of Thy breath,

Speak, Master, and reveal to me

Thine inmost laws of life and death.

‘Give me to drink each joy and pain

Which Thine eternal hand can mete,

For my insatiate soul would drain

Earth’s utmost bitter, utmost sweet.

‘Spare me no bliss, no pang of strife,

Withhold no gift or grief I crave,

The intricate lore of love and life

And mystic knowledge of the grave.’

Lord, Thou didst answer stern and low:

‘Child, I will hearken to thy prayer,

And thy unconquered soul shall know

All passionate rapture and despair.

‘Thou shalt drink deep of joy and fame,

And love shall burn thee like a fire,

And pain shall cleanse thee like a flame,

To purge the dross from thy desire.

‘So shall thy chastened spirit yearn

To seek from its blind prayer release,

And spent and pardoned, sue to learn

The simple secret of My peace.

‘I, bending from my sevenfold height,

Will teach thee of My quickening grace,

Life is a prism of My light,

And Death the shadow of My face.’

by: Sarojini Naidu (1879-1949)