Ode to a Friend. 1758

Why so tim'rous, gentle friend? Pri'thee, banish care and dread; Of harmless pleasure, know no end, Till thou'rt number'd with the dead.

What can keep thee from the grave, If it please th' Almighty pow'r? What destroy thee if he'll save, Or rob thee of the passing hour?

What should move the pow'r divine, Thee, good mortal, to destroy? Then, with me, right-pleasing join, To gild the wing'd time with joy.

But not in pleasure's Syren-charms, I mean to lose the heart: I know that mirth has sad alarms Where wisdom has no part.

But let passion's easy gale, Thy bark with rapture sweep, While powerful reason shall prevail And guide her o'er the deep.

Then chearful flow thy transient breath, With courage arm thy heart; Immortal life begins in death, And smiles at his grim dart.