For works with similar titles, see Rest.
LIFE.
Oh! what is life, but a short breath,
The heavings of a breast,
A soul's strange dream while on the earth,
A vague and brief unrest?
The heavings of a breast,
A soul's strange dream while on the earth,
A vague and brief unrest?
Each year is a tidal wave,
Hastening us o'er life's sea;
A warning voice from the cold grave,
Where all is mystery.
Hastening us o'er life's sea;
A warning voice from the cold grave,
Where all is mystery.
E'en like a harp carelessly strung,
Life sounds no perfect chord.
The sweetest strains that can be sung,
Are marred with harsh discords.
Life sounds no perfect chord.
The sweetest strains that can be sung,
Are marred with harsh discords.
If days, the notes of life's great song,
Could all be played aright,
Oh! then the world as one vast throng
Would listen at its might.
Could all be played aright,
Oh! then the world as one vast throng
Would listen at its might.