My Life as an Author

by Martin Farquhar Tupper

I.

"When the soul passes Eternity's portal,
In that Hereafter of Being Elsewhere,
When this poor earthworm becomes an Immortal,
Risen to Life Incorruptible There;
If in some semblance of spirit and feature,
Still to be recognised one and the same,
Not in its entity quite a new creature,
But as a growth of the world whence it came,—

II.

"Oh, what a river of gladness or sadness
Then must gush out from quick memory's well,
Infinite ecstasy, uttermost madness,
As the quick conscience greets Heaven—or Hell!
Whilst he reviews old scenes and past travels,
Grained in himself and engraved on his soul,
As the knit robe of his timework unravels
And his whole life is unmeshed to its goal.

III.

"Yea, for within him, far more than without him,
Works ever following, evil or good,
Happiness, misery, circling about him,
Plant a man's foot in the soil where he stood:
If he was sensual, sordid, and cruel,
Sensual, cruel, and base let him be,
If he have guarded his soul as a jewel,
Holy and happy and blessed be he!

IV.

"For that the seeds both of Hell and of Heaven
Darnel or wheat-corn, crowd memory's mart,
And though all sin be repented, forgiven,
Yet recollections must live in the heart:
Still resurrected each moment's each action
Comes up for conscience to judge it again,
Joy unto peace or remorse to distraction,
Growing to infinite pleasure or pain.

V.

"Thy many sins were the ruin of others,
Though the chief sinner's own guilt may be waived:
What! shall the doom of those sisters and brothers
Not be a sorrow to thee that art saved?
Can utter selfishness be God's Nirwana,
Blest—with our brethren of blessing bereft?
Must not His Heaven seem poorer and vainer,
Where one is taken and others are left?