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POEMS BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
A PSALM OF LIFE.
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem. The shades of night were falling fast,
Life is real-life is earnestAs through an Alpine village passed
And the grave is not its goal; A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way; Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
1, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
he world's broad field of battle,
in the bivouac of Life, In the original issue of no.I not like dumb, driven cattle ! page 1 contains a prose intro
Be a hero in the strife ! duction dated at the foot: Phile-ist no Future, howe'er pleasant! delphia,lith mo.8th, 1844.
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
-act in the living Present! Page 2 has "Excelsior," A
Ieart within, and God o’erhead! "A Psalm of Life," and the begin-We can make our lives sublime,
es of great men all remind us ning of "Reform. "
1, departing, leave behind us
tsteps, that perhaps another
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
achieving, still pursuing,
At break of day, as heavenward
THE ARROW AND THE SONG.
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
I shot an arrow into the air,
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Responds,- as if with unseen wings
And whispers, in its song,
THE LIGHT OF STARS.
A new year of labor has begun in the stillness of winter. In the moral world, however, the fields are ever white for the harvest, and the reaper has only to put in the sickle, and do his part towards the great in-gathering. There are no seasons of repose to the reformer. It is ever, with him, seed-time and harvest. Though the seed he scatters broadcast over the world, is invisible to the unanointed eye, it is still a reality-the only reality-for that seed is truth. It becomes him ever to be ready, with his loins girded, and his seed in his hand, to go abroad, scattering the unseen, but almighty germs of happi
Much discouragement and disheartening will he meet with from a froward and perverse generation-because they look still sor an outward redemption, for an earthly Messiah. The evils of outward condition absorb their sight. They scoff at, and belie, and, it may be, crucify him who would draw them from their physical bondage, by the mighty
The night is come, but not too soon ;
And sinking silently,
Drops down behind the sky.
There is no light in earth or heaven,
But the cold light of stars; And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.