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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 to-morrow. Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave,
in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return. GOD'S WORD® Translation. By the sweat of your brow, you will produce food to eat until you return to the ground, because you were taken from it.
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 to-morrow. Find us farther than to-day. 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.
Feb 20, 2005 · Dust Thou Art: Part 1: Directed by Gwennan Sage. With Warren Clarke, Colin Buchanan, Douglas Henshall, Naomi Bentley. When Lisa Johnson is kidnapped by two men wearing balaclavas, PC Maria Jackson is also taken when she tries to intervene.
- (105)
- Crime, Mystery, Drama
- Gwennan Sage
- 2005-02-20
- Female
- October 9, 1995
- Poetry Analyst And Editor
- 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. The speaker of ‘A Psalm of Life’ begins by asking something of his listener.
- 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. The narrator continues on with what reads as a desperate attempt to contradict what he was afraid of in the first stanza.
- Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow. Find us farther than to-day. The speaker continues his discussion of the purpose or point of life, He does not believe, nor will he even consider, the possibility that life is made to suffer through.
- 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.
"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 to-morrow. Finds us farther than to-day. 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.
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 to-morrow. Find us farther than to-day. 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.
