Classic Poem

How seldom, friend, a good, great man inherits
Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains!
It seems a story from the world of spirits
When any man obtains that which he merits,
Or any merits that which he obtains.

For shame, my friend; renounce this idle strain!
What would'st thou have a good, great man obtain?
Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain,
Or heap of corpses which his sword hath slain?
Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends.
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The great, good man? Three treasures--love, and light,
And calm thoughts, equable as infants' breath;
And three fast friends, more sure than day or night--
Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.