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Page ix - 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.
Page 219 - This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall : Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all.
Page ix - 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...
Page 85 - For the bread that you eat and the biscuits you nibble, The sweets that you suck and the joints that you carve, They are brought to you daily by all us Big Steamers— And if any one hinders our coming you'll starve.
Page 85 - Oh, where are you going to, all you Big Steamers, With England's own coal, up and down the salt seas?" "We are going to fetch you your bread and your butter, Your beef, pork, and mutton, eggs, apples, and cheese.
Page ix - 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.
Page 224 - But see ! The rising Moon of Heav'n again Looks for us, Sweet-heart, through the quivering Plane : How oft hereafter rising will she look Among those leaves — for one of us in vain ! ex.
Page 54 - You hollow skull, what has your grin to say, But that a mortal brain, with trouble tossed, Sought once, like mine, the sweetness of the day, And strove for truth, and in the gloam was lost.
Page 54 - And walls me in like any pedant hack? Fellow of moth that flits and worm that delves, I drag my life through learned bric-a-brac. And shall I here discover what I lack, And learn, by reading countless volumes through, That mortals mostly live on misery's rack, That happiness is known to just a few?