Martin Farquhar Tupper

Martin Farquhar Tupper (July 17, 1810 – November 1880) was an English writer, and poet, and the author of Proverbial Philosophy.

Sourced

  • Away with false fashion, so calm and so chill,
    Where pleasure itself cannot please;
    Away with cold breeding, that faithlessly still
    Affects to be quite at its ease;
    For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank,
    The freest is first of the band,
    Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank,
    Is a man with his heart in his hand!

Proverbial Philosophy (1838-1842)

  • 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;
    Nor is any poison so deadly, that it serveth not some wholesome use.
    • Of Truth in Things False.

  • There is a limit to enjoyment, though the sources of wealth be boundless
    And the choicest pleasures of life lie within the ring of moderation.
    • Of Compensation

  • Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech.
    • Of Discretion

  • A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever.
    • Of Reading

  • A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure, a messenger of peace and love, a resting place for innocence on earth, a link between angels and men.
    • Of Education

  • God, from a beautiful necessity, is Love in all he doeth,
    Love, a brilliant fire, to gladden or consume:
    The wicked work their woe by looking upon love, and hating it:
    The righteous find their joys in yearning on its loveliness for ever.
    • Of Immortality

  • Tell me, ye that strive in vain to cramp and dwarf the soul,
    Wherefore should it cease to be, and when shall essence die?
    • Of Immortality

  • If the mind is wearied by study, or the body worn with sickness,
    It is well to lie fallow for a while, in the vacancy of sheer amusement ;
    But when thou prosprest in health, and thine intellect can soar untired,
    To seek uninstructive pleasure is to slumber on the couch of indolence.
    • Of Recreation

  • Wait, thou child of hope, for Time shall teach thee all things.
    • Of Good in Things evil

  • Clamorous pauperism feasteth
    While honest Labor, pining, hideth his sharp ribs.
    • Of Discretion

  • Who can wrestle against Sleep? — Yet is that giant very gentleness.
    • Of Beauty

Ballads for the Times (1851)

  • I am not old,—I cannot be old,
    Though threescore years and ten
    Have wasted away, like a tale that is told.

  • Never give up! it is wiser and better
    Always to hope, than once to despair.

  • For life, good youth, hath never an ill
    Which hope cannot scatter, and faith cannot kill;
    And stubborn realities never shall bind
    The free-spreading wings of a cheerful mind.

  • Who shall guess what I may be?
    Who can tell my fortune to me?
    For, bravest and brightest that ever was sung
    May be—and shall be—the lot of the young!

  • How gladly would I wander through some strange and savage land,
    The lasso at my saddle-bow, the rifle in my hand,
    A leash of gallant mastiffs bounding by my side,
    And, for a friend to love, the noble horse on which I ride!
    Alone, alone—yet not alone, for God is with me there,
    The tender hand of Providence shall guide me everywhere,
    While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as spirits calm and mild,
    Shall fan with their sweet wings the hermit-hunter of the wild!

  • Open the casement, and up with the Sun!
    His gallant journey is just begun;
    Over the hills his chariot is roll'd,
    Banner'd with glory, and burnish'd with gold,—
    Over the hills he comes sublime,
    Bridegroom of Earth, and brother of Time!

  • Hush,—for the halo of calmness is spreading
    Over my spirit as mild as a dove;
    Hush,—for the angel of comfort is shedding
    Over my body his vial of love;
    Hush,—for new slumbers are over me stealing,
    Thus would I court them again and again,
    Hush,—for my heart is intoxicate,—reeling
    In the swift waltz of my beautiful brain!

  • The dews of Hermon rest upon thee now,
    Fair saint and martyr! and yet once again
    Faith, hope and charity, like gracious rain,
    Fall on thy consecrated virgin brow.

  • Rise! ye gallant youth of Britain,
    Gather to your country's call,
    On your hearts her name is written,
    Rise to help her, one and all!

  • "Let byegones be byegones,"—they foolishly say,
    And bid me be wise and forget them;
    But old recollections are active to-day,
    And I can do nought but regret them.

  • When streams of unkindness, as bitter as gall,
    Bubble up from the heart to the tongue,
    And Meekness is writhing in torment and thrall,
    By the hands of Ingratitude wrung,—
    In the heat of injustice, unwept and unfair,
    While the anguish is festering yet,
    None, none but an angel or God can declare
    "I now can forgive and forget."
 
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