I think I've mentioned before that I visit, on occasion, a site that allows people to stream live webcam video of themselves in various states of dress/undress and in various activities. Well, I don't really go there anymore, for multiple reasons, but I did make a couple of friends while there, people who I would describe as not being like the vast majority of viewers/performers there.
I was chatting with one of them yesterday, a remarkably intelligent and handsome man, when he introduced me to a poem by H. W. Longfellow that I was not familiar with. This in and of itself is not unusual in that, despite being a fairly educated man, I have never been much for poetry. I have always attributed this to my hiding who I was from my family and friends, afraid that people would see who I was deep down inside. One cannot appreciate poetry and the emotions it invokes when you are masking your feelings and self from the world.
Well, he recited a portion of the poem, A Psalm of Life, from memory and told me it was his favorite poem. When I explained that I wasn't familiar with it, he sent me a link so that I could read it in its entirety. We then discussed at length what Longfellow was saying, and it struck me that this poem truly resonated within my internet friend. He told of how he wants to make his mark upon the world, how he wishes to be a hero and set an example for other people to follow just as Longfellow suggests.
I have to admit that my eyes teared up during our conversation, though I can't tell you why. Perhaps it was because I realized I was speaking to someone with passion and goals who had a plan for his life. And I don't mean a silly or nebulous plan, such as "I want to be a police man", or "I want to be the next Donald Trump". No, he has a solid plan with attainable and measurable short and long term goals, and he will be embarking on the first part of his plan in a few months.
Or perhaps it was because I could sense greatness in him and was glad that I have had the opportunity to meet him and share some of my own thoughts and views of the world with him. Perhaps it was because he had shared with me the hardships of his life as well as his hopes and dreams, and I knew that he is a far better man than I. Perhaps it was because I can see in him a gentle soul, a man who wishes to do good works in the world, who sees good around him, and yet who is scheduled to leave to the military in a couple of months, an institution not known for its appreciation of beauty or individuality. And out of all of my jumbled thoughts and fuzzy observations, everything he said seemed to me to be connected back to the poem that meant so much to him.
I, too, must admit that I feel a pull from the words of Longfellow, though I think it has as much to do with its powerful message and wonderfully crafted phrases as it does with the dreams and possibilities it inspired in a remarkable young man. Though I cannot say that my eyes and heart have now been opened to the beauty of poetry, this particular poem will remain with me for years to come.
The poem is below. I hope you will take a moment to read it for yourself.
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A PSALM OF LIFE
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN
SAID TO THE PSALMIST
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.
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,
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 like 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 !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
