Poems . ough stout and brave,Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the worlds broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life,Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife ! THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 101 Trust no Future, howeer pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead!Act,—act in the Hying Present! Heart within, and God oerhead ! 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 oer lifes solemn main,A forlorn and shipwrecked br
Poems . ough stout and brave,Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the worlds broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life,Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife ! THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 101 Trust no Future, howeer pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead!Act,—act in the Hying Present! Heart within, and God oerhead ! 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 oer lifes 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 labour and to wait. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen,He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. Shall I have nought that is fair ? saith he; Have nought but the bearded grain ?. I will give them all back a gain. He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of ParadiseHe bound them in his sheaves. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 103 My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,The Reaper said, and smiled; Dear tokens of the earth are they,Where He was once a child. They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care,And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear. And the mother gave, in tears and pain,The flowers she most did love; She knew she should find them all againIn the fields of light above. O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day;T was an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away.
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Keywords: ., bookauthorlongfellowhenrywadswo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850
