by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
[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 ernest!
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 to-morrow
Finds 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
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, 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
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,
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,
Learn to labor and to wait.
If you do follow your bliss,
You put yourself on a kind of track
That has been there all the while waiting for you,
And the life you ought to be living
Is the one you are living.
When you can see that,
You begin to meet people
Who are in the field of your bliss,
And they open the doors to you.
I say, follow your bliss and don’t be afraid,
And doors will open
Where you didn’t know they were going to be.
Follow your bliss and the Universe will open doors for you
where there were only walls."
Still incredibly relevant ~
Terence McKenna - Culture Is Your Operating System