From “Festus,” Scene: “A Country Town” FESTUS.— Oh! there is A life to come, or all ’s a dream. LUCIFER.— And all May be a dream. Thou seest in thine, men, deeds, Clear, moving, full of speech and order; then Why may not all this world be but a dream Of God’s? Fear not! Some morning God may waken. FESTUS.—I would it were. This life ’s a mystery. The value of a thought cannot be told; But it is clearly worth a thousand lives Like many men’s. And yet men love to live As if mere life were worth their living for. What but perdition will it be to most? Life ’s more than breath and the quick round of blood; It is a great spirit and a busy heart. The coward and the small in soul scarce do live. One generous feeling—one great thought—one deed Of good, ere night, would make life longer seem Than if each year might number a thousand days, Spent as is this by nations of mankind. We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most—feels the noblest—acts the best. Life ’s but a means unto an end—that end Beginning, mean, and end to all things—God.
Life
More from Poet
|
From “Festus” HE had no times of study, and no place; All places and all times to him were one. His soul was like the wind-harp, which he loved, And sounded only when the spirit blew, Sometime in feasts and follies, for he went Lifelike through all things; and his thoughts then rose Like... |
From “Festus,” Scene: “A Country Town” FESTUS.— Oh! there is A life to come, or all ’s a dream. LUCIFER.— And all May be a dream. Thou seest in thine, men, deeds, Clear, moving, full of speech and order; then Why may not all this world be but a dream Of God’... |
From “Festus” FOR to die young is youth’s divinest gift; To pass from one world fresh into another, Ere change hath lost the charm of soft regret, And feel the immortal impulse from within Which makes the coming life cry always, On! And follow it while strong, is heaven’s last mercy. There is a... |
From “Festus” SAY gray-beards what they please, The heart of age is like an emptied wine-cup; Its life lies in a heel-tap: how can age judge? ’T were a waste of time to ask how they wasted theirs; But while the blood is bright, breath sweet, skin smooth, And limbs all made to minister... |
|
I loved her for that she was beautiful; |