image source : maja's diary
Let me know not, in melancholy numbers,
Life is however a vacant dream!
For the spirit is dead that sleeps,
What's more, things are not what they appear.
Life is genuine! Life is sincere!
What's more, the grave isn't its objective;
Clean thou craftsmanship, to tidy returnest,
Was not talked about the spirit.
Not satisfaction, and not distress,
Is our predetermined end or way;
However, to act, that each to-morrow
Discover us more distant than to-day.
Craftsmanship is long, and Time is temporary,
Furthermore, our hearts, however hefty and overcome,
All things considered, as stifled drums, are pounding
Burial service walks to the grave.
On the planet's wide field of fight,
In the bivouac of Life,
Dislike imbecilic, driven cows!
Be a legend in the hardship!
Put stock in no Future, howe'er lovely!
Let the dead Past cover its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart inside, and God o'erhead!
Lives of awesome men all remind us
We can make our lives radiant,
What's more, withdrawing, abandon us
Impressions on the sands of time;
Impressions, that maybe another,
Cruising o'er life's grave principle,
A melancholy and wrecked sibling,
Seeing, might take heart once more.
Let us, at that point, be up and doing,
With a heart for any destiny;
As yet accomplishing, as yet seeking after,
Figure out how to work and to pause.
