Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty fream For the soul is dead that slumbers (ITALIC) 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 (UNDERLINE) Was not spoken of the soulNot enjoyment and not sorrowIs our destined end or wayBut to act, that each tomorrow(STRIKETHRU)Find us further than to dayArt is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave Still, like muffled drums, are beating (EMPHASIS) Funeral marches to the grave In the world's broad field of battle In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle, (STRONG) Be a hero in the strife.