A QUESTION OR TWO.
If, as you say, like dogs we die,
Why, then, like angels live?
Let faithless Reason make reply,
And honest answer give.
What power shall check the downward trend
Of wilful hearts of men,
If in eternal nothing end
Their three score years and ten?
That Virtue is its own reward—
Think you sufficient cause
To move men to the due regard
Of Heaven’s holiest laws?
While blood is blood, and gold is gold,
Alas, you vainly try,
With fine-spun calculations cold,
To lure us to the sky.
Be naught beyond to hold in awe
The beast in every breast,
Then tooth and claw shall be our law;—
Why need to paint the rest?
Grant us for our protection here,
This boon, Philosophy,
If not the hope, the wholesome fear,
Of immortality.
And, meanwhile, in our memory keep
That earnest word of old:—
Whate’er thou sowest thou shalt reap,
In measure manifold.