Life

Philip James Bailey (1816–1902)

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.