Up to the pulpit strode he with an air,
And from the Preacher thus his text he read:
"More I esteem, and better is by far
"A dog existing than a lion dead.
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"Go, eat thy dainties with a joyful heart,
"And quaff thy wine with undissembled glee,
"For he who did these heavenly gifts impart
"Accepts thy prayers, thy gifts, thy vows, and thee."
The Sermon
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These truths, my friends, congenial to my soul,
Demand a faithful and attentive ear—
No longer for your 'parted friend condole,
No longer shed the tributary tear.
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Curs'd be the sobs, these useless floods of woe
That vainly flow for the departed dead—
If doom'd to wander on the coasts below,
What are to him these seas of grief you shed?
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If heaven in pleasure doth his hours employ—
If sighs and sorrows reach a place like this,
They blast his glories, and they damp his joy,
They make him wretched in the midst of bliss.