Seest thou yon mountain laden with deep snow, <br />The groves beneath their fleecy burden bow, <br />The streams congeal'd, forget to flow, <br />Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile <br />Of fuel on the hearth; <br />Broach the best cask and make old winter smile <br />With seasonable mirth. <br /> <br />This be our part -- let Heaven dispose the rest; <br />If Jove command, the winds shall sleep, <br />That now wage war upon the foamy deep, <br />And gentle gales spring from the balmy west. <br /> <br />E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may, <br />When to-morrow's passed away, <br />We at least shall have to say, <br />We have lived another day; <br />Your auburn locks will soon be silver'd o'er, <br />Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more.<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/horace-book-i-ode-ix/
