The Historical Poem “A Psalm of Life By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow” as follow,
Who is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow?
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882) was once an American poet and educator whose works encompass “Paul Revere’s Ride”, The Song of Hiawatha, and Evangeline. He used to be the first American to translate Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy and was once one of the Fireside Poets from New England.
Longfellow was once born in Portland, Maine, which used to be then nevertheless phase of Massachusetts. He studied at Bowdoin College and grew to be a professor at Bowdoin and later at Harvard College after spending time in Europe. His first main poetry collections had been Voices of the Night (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841). He retired from educating in 1854 to focal point on his writing, and he lived the rest of his existence in the Revolutionary War headquarters of George Washington in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His first spouse Mary Potter died in 1835 after a miscarriage. His 2d spouse Frances Appleton died in 1861 after sustaining burns when her costume caught fire. After her death, Longfellow had a situation writing poetry for a time and targeted on translating works from overseas languages. He died in 1882. (By Wikipedia)
Related Post to the A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
- The Road Not Taken Poem By Robert Frost
- 10 Best Motivational Poem By All-Time Best Authors
- Phenomenal Woman Motivational Poem By Maya Angelou
- Still, I Rise Motivational Poem By Maya Angelou
- The Invitation Motivational Poem By Oriah Mountain Dreamer
- If By Rudyard Kipling Poem
- Janki Ballabh Shastri Poem By Motivators in Hindi
A Psalm of Life By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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
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.
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.