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Sands Of Time
Tell me not in mornful 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 it's goal:
"dust thou art, dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
And departing leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time
Not enjoyment and not sorrow
Is our destined end or way;
But to act that each to-morrow
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.
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