And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
3. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined[126] end or way,
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
4. Art is long, and time is fleeting;
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled[127] drums, are beating