I first learned this poem when I was in my 5th grade. I remembered my teacher told us to copy it from the blackboard. Back then, my interest in literary works is amazing. Every time I see one I will really read it and try to understand it. I love the rhyme at the end of each line. I also love to decipher its meaning. I can still remember how I memorized this poem after seeing it for the first time. I can still remember when my teacher asked for a volunteer to read the poem in front of the class. I volunteered. Right there and then, I recite it in front of my classmates. They were so impressed. It was one of my happiest moments.
A Psalm of Life is one of the poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It tells us wonderful lessons in life. For me, A Psalm of Life is a reminder for all of us to think and act for ourselves and for other people. It tells us that even if our bodies die, life continues through our soul. Although we die, life’s goal is not the grave, but how we live each moment that we are alive. It tells us that to live is not to enjoy nor to become sorrowful, these are just the consequences of our actions. Therefore, we need to act, to work so that we can improve our present status in life. Life is short however it is the journey through life and becoming the good person GOD wants us to be that is difficult and takes long time to achieve. Life is a battle itself and that everyone can be heroes in their own special way by doing a nice and truthful act that will serve as our legacy to other people who were lost. This legacy will become their inspiration on how we overcome difficulties and this will help them realize that there is always hope. However, no matter how successful we are, we have to be cautious for life brings us not only good things but untoward events as well.
So let me share this poem to you…
A PSALM OF LIFE
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!
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
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
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.
