Classic Poem

On receiving a Moral Epistle from him.

 P LEASE accept the thanks and praise,
Due to your poetic lays,
Wisdom aye should be rever'd,
Sense to wit be aye preferr'd.
—Just your thoughts, in simple guise,
Fit to make frail mortals wise,
Every period, every line,
With some moral truth doth shine.
—Like the rocks, which storms divide,
Thund'ring down the mountain's side,
So strides time with rapid force,
Round his unobstructed course;
Like a flood upon its way,
Sweeping downward to the sea:
But what figure so sublime
As describe the flight of time!
—Life's a dream, and man's a bubble,
'Compass'd round with care and trouble,
Like a ship in tempest tost,
Soon o'erwhelm'd, for ever lost;
Like the short-liv'd passion-flower,
Blooming, dying, in an hour:
Like the tuneful bird that sings,
Flutt'ring high on sportive wings,
Till the fowler's subtle art,
Drives Death's message to its heart,
While, perhaps, Death aims his blow
For to lay the wretch as low.
—Now since life is but a day,
Make the most of it we may;
Calm and tranquil let us be,
Still resign'd to Fate's decree:
Let not poortith sink us low,
Let not wealth exalt our brow;
Let's be grateful, virtuous, wise,
There's where all our greatness lies.
Doing all the good we can,
Is all that Heaven requires of man.
—Wherefore should we grieve and sigh,
'Cause we know that we must die?
Death's a debt requir'd by nature,
To be paid by every creature:
Rich and poor, and high and low,
Fall by Death's impartial blow—
God perhaps in kindness will
Snatch us from some coming ill;
Death may kindly waft us o'er
To a milder, happier shore.
—But, dear Jamie! after a',
What I've said's not worth a straw;
What is't worth to moralize
What we never can practise?
As for me, with a' my skill,
Passion leads me as she will:
But resolves, laid down to-day,
Ere to-morrow, 're done away—
Then, let's ever cheery live,
Do our best, and never grieve;
Still let Friendship's warmest tie
A' deficiencies supply,
And, while favour'd by the Nine,
I your laurels will entwine.