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!

　　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?

　　But to act, that each tomorrow

　　Finds us farther than today.

　　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.

　　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 overhead!