“A ditty sprang to mind,” Dona Clark commented on my website, and then she quoted the last stanza of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, A Psalm of Life, which she’d memorized as a child.
Dona’s recent comment prompted further thought(s) about the importance of patiently waiting, avoiding the impulse to pre-emptively act when action feels comfortable in the presence of the discomfort and stillness of waiting.
When I read the last line: “Learn to labor and to wait,” and then placed the previous eight verses in the context of that line, Longfellow’s words brought to mind how much easier it is for me to “heroically” labor than it is for me to be equally determined in waiting.
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
Finds 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.
What is it for which I wait: some sign, a signal from God, an inescapable truth from therapeutic explorations and understanding, a combination of both? Up and doing, failure and success notwithstanding, have come with heartbreak, arrogant embrace and both too easily; waiting is laborious for me, and though I slumber I’m not dead—snoozing maybe—and in the solitary moments of waiting my hope is to not labor but to wait with fervent patience in the stillness and solitude of listening.
And you?
by 
I too labor most heartily, relatively easily, sometimes to avoid the discomfort of waiting patiently and silently listening. Growing older helps to slow down the process, requiring me to sit quietly, and most frequently now, falling into slumber. I’m learning to believe and accept that God is always with me, speaking to me, even when I cannot hear clearly. Family, friends, my newly found congregation, heartbreak and happiness, and even my labors of love, are all part of my journey.
Your post was a good reminder of the necessity and value of solitary reflection and the pure and simple acceptance of the gift of life with its abundant blessings and challenges. Thank you for writing and sharing your quest with us. May you find
some solace and peace in this new year ahead. Journey on and write on, mon ami.
Colette,
Thank you for reading and commenting. It may have been Mark Twain who wrote that we would be better served [life too] if we came into the world ‘old,’ and grew ‘young.’ Not a bad idea for The Mystery to consider next time the urge to spend “seven days” creating another beautiful world. I wonder what laboring and waiting would be like under those circumstances? Imagine reversing the factors you’ve mentioned as you journey-on. Wishing you blessings amidst the challenges,
Roger
Roger. Beautiful piece, as always. Since 1972, I have lived with a busy, overactive brain, with ADD-like activity. I recall walking in the mall one day at age 15, and taking another step in my gait as I passed the store “Lerner’s,” when suddenly my brain shifted from calm to chaos. I had to walk the malls to kill time until my dad came home. Not safe to go home to my stepmother and her son, who verbally, physically and emotionally assaulted me. I presume it was stress-related PTS, on the heels of 15 years of sustained trauma and neglect. Now, at 61, I’m learning to reign in my multi-directional, fragmented ideas and impulses so that I can wait on God, linger in nature, meditate on the pure and lovely, breathe deeper and slower, and just meditate on all that has the potential to feed my soul, and maybe equip me to feed another’s as I ask God to help me evolve into a higher version of who I’m called to be. I love the poem you posted and your words are just as wonderful. Happy New Year!
Anne,
Thank you for sharing your history and hopes, realized and anticipated, and the wise and practiced suggestions to “…linger in nature, meditate on the pure and lovely, breathe deeper and slower, and just meditate on all that has the potential to feed my soul….”
God is in the waiting,
Roger
For me, waiting involves living in the moment listening with sharpened awareness perhaps leading to new insight and understanding. It includes an openness to moments of pleasure: a beautiful flower, a pleasant taste, a lovely melody, an inspiring poem. It is an openness to new possibilities and new experiences. It is a way to keep on keeping on no matter what. Unconsciously, this poem has had a big influence in my life over the years. Your writing has made it conscious for me. New insight! Many thanks!
Dona,
Wondering if memorizing ditties, reciting them in rote or with childhood intentionality imbues us with “something” beyond the poems words, or the poet’s intent? I suspect it does, and as you affirm, what an embraceable magic that is!
Your comment speaks–better than my words–to the core of waiting and listening.
Thank you.
Roger
Roger,
Thanks!
Don’t know if you’re aware, but local fiddler, songwriter and impresario Pete Sutherland (who lives in Monkton, VT) has set this poem of Longfellow’s to music, and sings it on one of his albums–the Google results direct you to a concert video of the song which isn’t that great.
Bob
Bob,
Thank you for reading, commenting, and providing this information to us–I’ll check out sites to hear him sing.
Roger
I believe I sang this poem or part of it as a hymn in church as a child. I still have the melody in my head though I hadn’t thought of it for a very long time.
Dona,
Some aspects of our childhood never leave us, and this is one to be cherished. Continue to enjoy the melody, and any memories it stirs. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Roger
“Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing
Learn to labor and to wait.”
The ending of the Longfellow poem was the most personal for me. Moving out of a retirement community back into the active hustle bustle of the city is making me feel more alive, and I haven’t even moved yet. To “be up and doing” marks time in eventful ways. “Still achieving, still pursuing” is what I hope to continue to be doing until days end. Thank you for your beautiful, thoughtful and always inspiring words.
Jo Anne,
How exciting that you are embracing the “active hustle and bustle of the city,” and that in so doing you “feel more alive”–in anticipation mode! Wonderful, and bodes well for the actual move and resettling. Thank you for reading, commenting and sharing this new adventure with us. Can new lyrics and composition be far behind?
Roger
This poem is a comfort to me. It reminds me of this passage from the Psalms: “Be still and know that I am God.” Stillness, quiet, patience, listening and waiting are all prerequisites for achievement. I need to spend more of my time with these disciplines. They seem to be the virtues of someone who has nothing to do and nowhere to go, but in reality they enable us to leave our “footprints in the sands of time.” Thank you for this timely reminder, Roger and William!
Bill,
Well said, and thank you for reading and writing these comments. “They seem to be virtues of someone who has nothing to do and nowhere to go…” captures the mantra of the culture in which I was raised. Stillness, quiet, patience, listening and waiting were synonymous with idleness, even the Devils’ handiwork and therefore to be avoided–little or no encouragement to embrace these virtues as prerequisites to achievement. Thank you, Bill.
Roger
Rog,
Happy New Year, and thanks for the poem, “A Psalm of Life.”
I really enjoyed it. Let us, then, be up and doing with a heart for any fate. I kept thinking about the world we live in today and the frightening ideas and attitudes we hear. I was reminded of a phrase from the “Midwife” where the doctor stated that “many live lives that are empty and they fill that void with hatred”–a serious malady in today’s world. Maybe we can’t “make our lives sublime,” but when we do pass on someone will say a few nice things about us.
All the best my friend,
Dennis
Dennis,
Happy New year, and thank you for reading then taking the time to comment. Your comment makes me consider what keeps me tuned-in to news reports that consistently portray awfulness yet infrequently report actions when fellow humans affirm and assist each other, not only when disaster occurs but during the everyday lives we all live. Am I drawn to the unseemly and dark side of human nature? Hope not because if so I may be [indirectly] contributing to “fanning the flames” of our baser nature. Maintaining faith in the basic goodness of humankind can be a challenge!
Roger