Sunday's Poem - A Psalm of Life, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A Psalm of Life 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 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 tomorrow Finds 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. 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.

A Poem for Sunday - "Two Friends, The Red and the White"

Recently, while reading through History of the Choctaw, Chickasaw and Natchez Indians, available on Google Books, I ran upon a poem entitled "Two Friends, The Red And The White." Although this poignant poem was included in the book to reflect upon close relationships that existed between Native Americans and their non-tribal neighbors, anyone who has ever had a close friend can relate to the thoughts expressed in the words. Since the poet's name was not provided, I am simply referencing its inclusion in the book mentioned above.

Two Friends, The Red and the White

"We spoke of many a vanished scene,

Of what we once had thought and said,

Of what had been, and might have been.

And who was changed, and who was dead;

And all that fills the hearts of friends,

When first they feel with secret pain,

Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,

And can never be one again."