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 tomorrow 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 In the worlds broad field of battle In the bivouac of life Be not dumb. driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead Act, act in the living Present4 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 tomorrow 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. . In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! . Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,~act in the living Present!