human
Stript to the naked soul, escaped from clay, From doubts unfetter'd, and dissolved in day; Unwarm'd by vanity, unreach'd by strife, And all my hopes and fears thrown off with life; Why am I charm'd by Friendship's fond essays, And tho' unbodied, conscious of thy praise? {58} Has pride a portion in the parted soul? Does passion still the formless mind control? Can gratitude outpant the silent breath, Or a friend's sorrow pierce the glooms of death? No, 'tis a spirit's nobler taste of bliss, That feels the worth it left, in proofs like this; That not its own applause but thine approves, Whose practice praises, and whose virtue loves; Who liv'st to crown departed friends with fame; Then dying, late, shalt all thou gav'st reclaim. MR. POPE.
gpt
DOCTOR;