Martin Farquhar Tupper

Despise not, shrewd reckoner, the God of a good man's worship, Neither let thy calculating folly gainsay the unity of three: Nor scorn another's creed, although he cannot solve thy doubts;

Thou hast seen many sorrows, travel-stained pilgrim of the world. But that which hath vexed thee most hath been the looking for evil; And though calamities have crossed thee, and misery been heaped on thy head,

Equal is the government of heaven in allotting pleasures among men, And just the everlasting law, that hath wedded happiness to virtue: For verily on all things else broodeth disappointment with care,

For what then was I born? ' to fill the circling year with daily toil for daily bread, with sordid pains and pleasures? ' To walk this chequered world, alternate light and darkness, The day-dreams of deep thought followed by the night dreams of fancy? '

Rashly, nor ofttimes truly, doth man pass judgment on his brother; For he seeth not the springs of the heart, nor heareth the reasons of the mind. And the world is not wiser than of old, when justice was meted by the sword.

I KNEW that age was enriched with the hard-earned wages of knowledge, And I saw that hoary wisdom was bred in the school of disappointment: I noted that the wisest of youth, though provident and cautious of evil,

I Heard the man of sin reproaching the goodness of Jehovah, Wherefore, if he be Almighty Love, permitteth he misery and pain? I saw the child of hope vexed in the labyrinth of doubt,

Blunted unto goodness is the heart which anger never stirreth, But that which hatred swelleth, is keen to carve out evil. Anger is a noble infirmity, the generous failing of the just.

The sea-wort floating on the waves, or rolled up high along the shore, Ye counted useless and vile, heaping on it names of contempt: Yet hath it gloriously triumphed, and man been humbled in his ignorance,

Vice is grown aweary of her gawds, and donneth russet garments. Loving for change to walk as a nun, beneath a modest veil: For Pride hath noted how all admire the fairness of Humility,

Face thy foe in the field, and perchance thou wilt meet thy master, For the sword is chained to his wrist, and his armour buckled for the battle; But find him when he looketh not for thee, aim between the joints of his harness,

Where art thou, storehouse of the mind, gamer of facts and fancies, ' In what strange firmament are laid the beams of thine airy chambers? Or art thou that small cavern, the centre of the rolling brain,

A WICKED man scorneth prayer, in the shallow sophistry of reason. He derideth the silly hope that God can be moved by supplication: ' Can the unchangeable be changed, or waver in his purpose?

Deep is the sea, and deep is hell, but Pride mineth deeper; It is coiled as a poisonous worm about the foundations of the soul. If thou expose it in thy motives, and track it in thy springs of thought,

To join advantage to amusement, to gather profit with pleasure, Is the wise man's necessary aim, when he lieth in the shade of recreation. For he cannot fling aside his mind, nor bar up the floodgates of his wisdom;

In the silent watches of the night, calm night that breedeth thoughts. When the task-weary mind disporteth in the careless play-hours of sleep, I dreamed; and behold, a valley, green and sunny and well watered.

Law hath dominion over all things, over universal mind and matter; For there are reciprocities of right, which no creature can gainsay. Unto each was there added by its Maker, in the perfect chain of being,

Yet once more, saith the fool, yet once, and is it not a little one? Spare me this folly yet an hour, for what is one among so many? And lie blindeth his conscience with lies, and stupifieth his heart with doubts; '

Error is a hardy plant; it flourisheth in every soil; In the heart of the wise and good, alike with the wicked and foolish. For there is no error so crooked, but it hath in it some lines of truth:

Thoughts, that have tarried in my mind, and peopled its inner chambers, The sober children of reason, or desultory train of fancy; Clear-running wine of conviction, with the scum and the lees of speculation;

I LEFT the happy fields that smile around the village of Content, And sought with wayward feet the torrid desert of Ambition. Long time, parched and weary, I travelled that burning sand,

Inquirest thou, man, wherewithal may I come unto the Lord? And with what wonder-working sounds may I move the majesty of heaven? There is a model to thy hand; upon that do thou frame thy supplication;

Stay awhile, thou blessed band, be entreated, daughters of heaven! While the chance-met scholar of Wisdom learneth your sacred names: He is resting a little from his toil, yet a little on the borders of earth,

Few and precious are the words which the lips of Wisdom utter: To what shall then' rarity be likened? What price shall count their worth? Perfect and much to be desired, and giving joy with riches.