Of Estimating Character. From Proverbial Philosophy
By Martin Farquhar Tupper
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.
When the spear avenged the wrong, and the lot decided the right.
When the footsteps of blinded innocence were tracked by burning ploughshares.
And the still condemning water delivered up the wizard to the stake:
For we wait, like the sage of Salamis, to see what the end will be,
Fixing the right or the wrong, by the issues of failure or success.
Judge not of things by their events; neither of character by providence;
And count not a man more evil, because he is more unfortunate:
For the blessings of a better covenant lie not in the sunshine of prosperity,
But pain and chastisement the rather show the wise Father's love.
Behold that daughter of the world: she is full of gaiety and gladness;
The diadem of rank is on her brow, uncounted wealth is in her coffers:
She tricketh out her beauty like Jezebel, and is welcome in the courts of kings;
She is queen of the fools of fashion, and ruleth the revels of luxury:
And though she sitteth not as Tamar, nor standeth in the ways as Rahab,
Yet in the secret of her chamber, she shrinketh not from dalliance and guilt.
She careth not if there be a God, or a soul, or a time of retribution,
Pleasure is the idol of her heart: she thirsteth for no purer heaven.
And she laugheth with light good humour, and all men praise her gentleness;
They are glad in her lovely smile, and the river of her bounty filleth them.
So she prospered in the world: the worship and desire of thousands;
And she died even as she had lived, careless and courteous and liberal.
The grave swallowed up her pomp, the marble proclaimed her virtues,
For men esteemed her excellent, and charities sounded forth her praise;
But elsewhere far other Judgment setteth her with infidels and harlots!
She abused the trust of her splendour: and the wages of her sin shall be hereafter.
Look again on this fair girl, the orphan of a village pastor
Who is dead, and hath left her his all, his blessing and a name unstained.
And friends, with busy zeal, that their purses be not taxed.
Place the sad mourner in a home, poor substitute for that she hath lost.
A stranger among strange faces she drinketh the wormwood of dependence;
She is marked as a child of want, and the world hateth poverty.
Prayer is not heard in that house; the day she hath loved to hallow
Is noted but by deeper dissipation, the riot of luxury and gaming:
And wantonness is in her master's eye, and she hath no where to flee to;
She is cared for by none upon earth, and her God seemeth to forsake her;
Then cometh, in fail' show, the promise and the feint of affection,
And her heart, long unused to kindness, remembereth her father, and loveth.
And the villain hath wronged her trust, and mocked, and flung her from him.
And men point at her and laugh: and women hate her as an outcast:
But elsewhere, far other judgment seateth her among the martyrs!
And the Lord, who seemed to forsake, giveth double gloiy to the fallen.
Once more, in the matter of wealth; if thou throw thine all on a chance.
Men will come around thee, and wait, and watch the turning of the wheel:
And if, in the lottery of life, thou hast drawn a splendid prize.
What foresight hadst thou, and skill! yea, what enterprize and wisdom!
But if it fall out against thee, and thou fail in thy perilous endeavour.
Behold, the simple did sow, and hath reaped the right harvest of his folly:
And the world will be gladly excused, nor will reach out a finger to help;
For why should this speculative dullard be a whirlpool to all around him?
Go to, let him sink by himself: we knew what the end of it would be:
For the man hath missed his mark, and his fellows look no further.
Also, touchmg guilt and innocence: a man shall walk in his uprightness
Year after year without reproach, in chaiity and honesty with all:
But in one evil hour the enemy shall come in like a flood;
Shall track him, and tempt him, and hem him, till he knoweth not whither to fly.
Perchance his famishing little ones shall scream in his ears for bread,
And, maddened by that fierce cry, he rusheth as a thief upon the world;
The world that hath left him to starve, itself wallowing in plenty,
The world, that denieth hin his rights, he daringly robbeth it of them.
I say not, such an one is innocent; but, small is the measure of his guilt
To that of his wealthy neighbour, who would not help him at his need;
To that of the selfish epicure, who turned away with coldness from his tale;
To that of unsuffering thousands, who look with complacence on his fall.
Or perchance the continual dropping of the venomed words of spite.
Insult and injury and scorn, have galled and pierced his heart;
Yet, with all long-suffering and meekness, he forgiveth unto seventy times seven:
Till, in some weaker moment, tempted beyond endurance,
He striketh, more in anger than in hate; and, alas! for his heavy chance,
He hath smitten unto instant death his spiteful life-long enemy!
And none was by to see it; and all men knew of their contentions:
Fierce voices shout for his blood, and rude hands hurry him to judgment.
Then man's verdict cometh, Murderer, with forethought malice;
And his name is a note of execration; his guilt is too black for devils.
But to the Righteous Judge, seemeth he the suffering victim;
For his anger was not unlawful, but became him as a Christian and a man;
And though his guilt was grievous when he struck that heavy bitter blow.
Yet light is the sin of the smiter, and verily kicketh the beam,
To the weight of that man's wickedness, whose slow relentless hatred
Met him at every turn, with patient continuance in evil.
Doubtless, eternal wrath shall be heaped upon that spiteful enemy.
It is vain, it is vain, saith the preacher; there be none but the righteous and the wicked.
Base rebels, and staunch allies, the true knight, and the traitor:
And he beareth strong witness among men. There is no neutral ground.
The broad higliway and narrow path map out the whole domain;
Sit here among the saints, these holy chosen few,
Or grovel there a wretch condemned, to die among the million.
And verily for ultimate results, there be but good and bad;
Heaven hath no dusky twilight; hell is not gladdened with a dawn.
Yet looking round among his fellows, who can pass righteous judgment,
Such an one is holy and accepted, and such an one reprobate and doomed?
There is so much of good among the worst, so much of evil in the best,
Such seeming partialities in providence, so many things to lessen and expand,
Yea, and with all man's boast, so little real freedom of his will,
That, to look a little lower than the surface, garb or dialect or fashion,
Thou shalt feebly pronounce for a saint, and faintly condemn for a sinner.
Over many a good heart and true, fluttereth the Great King's pennant;
By many an iron hand, the pirate's black banner is unfurled:
But there be many more besides, in the yacht and the trader and the fishing-boat.
In the feathered war canoe, and the quick mysterious gondola:
And the army of that Great King hath no stated uniform;
Of mingled characters and kinds goeth forth the countless host;
There is the turbaned Damascene, with his tattooed Zealand brother.
There the slim bather in the Ganges, with the sturdy Russian boor.
The sluggish inmate of a Polar cave, with the fire-souled daughter of Brazil,
The embruted slave from Cuba, and the Briton of gentle birth.
For all are His inheritance, of all He taketh tithe:
And the church, His mercy's ark, hath some of every sort.
Who art thou, O man, that art fixing the limits of the fold?
Wherefore settest thou stakes to spread the tent of heaven?
Lay not the plummet to the line: religion hath no land-marks:
No hxunan keenness can discern the subtle shades of faith:
In some it is as earliest dawn, the scarce diluted darkness;
In some as dubious twilight, cold and grey and gloomy:
In some the ebon east is streaked with flaming gold:
In some the dayspring from on high breaketh in all its praise.
And Who hath determined the when, separating light from darkness?
Who shall pluck from earliest dawn the promise of the day?
Leave that care to the Husbandman, lest thou garner tares;
Help thou the shepherd in his seeking, but to separate be his;
For I have often seen the noble erring spirit
Wrecked on the shoals of passion, and numbered of the lost;
Often the generous heart, lit by unhallowed fire.
Counted a brand among the burning, and left uncared-for, in his sin:
Yet I waited a little year, and the mercy thou hadst forgotten
Hath purged that noble spirit, washing it in waters of repentance;
That glowing generous heart, having burnt out all its dross,
Is as a golden censer, ready for the aloes and cassia:
While thou, hard-visaged man, unlovely in thy strictness,
Who turned from him thy sympathies with self-complacent pride,
How art thou shamed by him! his heart is a spring of love,
While the dry well of thine affections is choked with secret mammon.
Sometimes at a glance thou judgest well; years could add little to thy knowledge:
When charity gloweth on the cheek, or malice is lowering in the eye.
When honesty's open brow, or the weasel-face of cunning is before thee.
Or the loose lip of wantonness, or clear bright forehead of reflection.
But often, by shrewd scrutiny, thou judgest to the good man's harm:
For it may be his hour of trial, or he slumbereth at his post.
Or he hath slain his foe, but not yet levelled the strong- hold.
Or barely recovered of the wounds, that fleshed him in his fray with passion.
Also, of the worst, through prejudice, thou loosely shalt think well:
For none is altogether evil, and thou mayst catch him at his prayers:
There may be one small prize, though all beside be blanks;
A silver thread of goodness in the black sergecloth of crime.
There is to whom all things are easy: his mind, as a master-key
Can open, with intuitive address, the treasuries of art and science:
There is to whom all things are hard; but industry giveth him a crow-bar,
To force, with groaning labour, the stubborn lock of learning:
And often, when thou lookest on an eye, dim in native duluess.
Little shalt thou wot of the wealth diligence hath gathered to its gaze;
Often, the brow that should be bright with the dormant fire of genius.
Within its ample halls, hath ignorance the tenant.
Yet are not the sons of men cast as in moulds by the lot?
The like in frame and feature have much alike in spirit;
Such a shape hath such a soul, so that a deep discerner
From his make will read the man, and err not far in judgment:
Yea, and it holdeth in the converse, that growing similarity of mind
Findeth or maketh for itself an apposite dwelling in the body:
Accident may modify, circumstance may bevil, externals seem to change it.
But still the primitive crystal is latent in its many variations:
For the map of the face, and the picture of the eye, are traced by the pen of passion;
And the mind fashioneth a tabernacle suitable for itself.
A mean spirit boweth down the back, and the bowing fostereth meanness;
A resolute purpose knitteth the knees, and the firm tread nourisheth decision;
Love looketh softly from the eye, and kindleth love by looking;
Hate furroweth the brow, and a man may frown till he hateth:
For mind and body, spirit and matter, have reciprocities of power,
And each keepeth up the strife; a man's works make or mar him.
There be deeper things than these, lying in the twilight of truth;
But few can discern them aright, lrom surrounding dimness of error.
For perchance, if thou knewest the whole, and largely with comprehensive mind
Couldst read the history of character, the chequered story of a life,
And into the great account, which summeth a mortal's destiny,
Wert to add the forces from without, dragging him this way and that.
And the secret qualities within, grafted on the soul from the womb.
And the might of other men's example, among whom his lot is cast.
And the influence of want, or wealth, of kindness or harsh ill-usage,
Of ignorance he cannot help, and knowledge found for him by others.
And first impressions, hard to be effaced, and leadings to right or to wrong,
And inheritance of likeness from a father, and natural human frailty,
And the habit of health or disease, and prejudices poured into his mind.
And the myriad little matters none but Omniscience can know,
And accidents that steer the thoughts, where none but Ubiquity can trace them;
If thou couldst compass all these, aud the consequents flowing from them,
And the scope to which they tend, and the necessary fitness of all things,
Then shouldst thou see as He seeth, who judgeth all men equal,
Equal, touching innocence and guilt; and different alone in this,
That one acknowledgeth his evil, and looketh to his God for mercy;
Another boasteth of his good, and calleth on his God for justice;
So He, that sendeth none away, is largely munificent to prayer.
But, in the heart of presumption, sheatheth the sword of vengeance.
Transcribed from Proverbial Philosophy by Mick Puttock, August 2011 (Spelling, punctuation and grammer left mostly unchanged from the 25th edition)