First published in the October 1838 issue of The Knickerbocker, a New York literary magazine. This poem was also excerpted in The Signal of Liberty on April 8, 1844 (see also "Poetry: Longfellow's Poems").
Life that shall eend A challenge to its end, And, when it comes, say, Welcotno friend.' what the ueartof the toung man 6aid to the psalmist; Teil me not n mournful nuaibcr, Life isut nn cropty dream! For the soul is dead thal slumbers, And things are not what thcy 6e&rn. Life is real! - life is earncsÃ¼ And the grave is not ita goal, Dust thou art to dust rcturncst, Was not spoken of the sou!. Not enjoymentand not eorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long and time is flceting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muflbd drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of batlle, In the bivonac of lifc, Be not like clnmb, driven cattlc! Bo a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe 'ei pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act - act in the glorious Present! Heart wiihin, and God o'er head! Livea of all great men remind us, We can make our lives sublime, And.'departing, leave behind us Footsteps on tho Bands Ã³f time. Footsteps, that, perhaps another Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwreckcd brother, Seeiog shall take hcart again. Let us then be up and doing, Wiih a heart for any fate; Still achioving, still pursuing, Learn lo labor and to wait.