Tell me not in mornful 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!   and the grave is not its goal;   "dust thou art, dust returnest,"   was not spoken of the soul.      And separting leave behind us   Footprints on the sands of time      Not enjoyment and not sorrow   is our destined end or way;   but to act that each tomorrow   finds us farther than today      And departing leave behind us   Footprints on the sands of time      Not enjoyment and not sorrow   is our destined end or way;   but act that each tomorrow   find 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.