Of Trifles. From Proverbial Philosophy Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEFGHIJIGKILMILNL AOAAPA QRDSHIGGGIIPBTUIGVAW IIXYIKHZINHLNG A

Yet once more saith the fool yet once and is it not a little oneA
Spare me this folly yet an hour for what is one among so manyB
And lie blindeth his conscience with lies and stupifieth his heart with doubtsC
Whom shall I harm in this matter and a little ill breedeth much goodD
My thoughts are they not mine own and they leave no mark behind themE
And if God so pardoneth crime how should these petty sins affect himF
So he transgresseth yet again and falleth by little and littleG
Till the ground crumble beneath him and he sinketh in the gulf despairingH
For there is nothing in the earth so small that it may not produce great thingsI
And no swerving from a right line that may not lead eternally astrayJ
A landmark tree was once a seed and the dust in the balance maketh a differeuceI
And the cairn is heaped high by each one flinging a pebbleG
The dangerous bar in the harbour's mouth is only grains of sandK
And the shoal that hath wrecked a navy is the work of a colony of wormsI
Yea and a despicable gnat may madden the mighty elephantL
And the living rock is worn by the diligent flow of the brookM
Little art thou O man and in trifles thou contendest with thine equalsI
For atoms must crowd upon atoms ere crime groweth to be a giantL
What is thy servant a dog not yet wilt thou grasp the daggerN
Not yet wilt thou laugh with the scoffers not yet betray the innocentL
But if thou nourish in thy heart the reveries of injury or passionA
And travel in mental heat the mazy labyrinths of guiltO
And then conceive it possihle and then reflect on it as doneA
And use by little and little thyself to regard thyself a villainA
Not long will crime be absent from the voice that doth invoke him to thy heartP
And bitterly wilt thou grieve that the buds have ripened into poisonA
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A spark is a molecule of matter yet may it kindle the worldQ
Vast is the mighty ocean but drops have made it vastR
Despise not thou a small thing either for evil or for goodD
For a look may work thy ruin or a word create thy wealthS
The walking this way or that the casual stopping or hasteningH
Hath saved life and destroyed it hath cast down and built up fortunesI
Commit thy trifles unto God for to him is nothing trivialG
And it is but the littleness of man that seeth no greatness in a trifleG
All things are infinite in parts and the moral is as the materialG
Neither is anything vast but it is compacted of atomsI
Thou art wise and shalt find comfort if thou study thy pleasure in triflesI
For slender joys often repeated fall as sunshine on the heartP
Thou art wise if thou beat off petty troubles nor suffer their stinging to fret theeB
Thrust not thine hand among the thorns but with a leathern gloveT
Regard nothing lightly which the wisdom of Providence hath orderedU
And therefore consider all things that happen unto thee or unto othersI
The warrior that stood against a host may be pierced unto death by a needleG
And the saint that feareth not the fire may perish the victim of a thoughtV
A mote in the gunner's eye is as bad as a spike in the gunA
And the cable of a furlong is lost through an ill wrought inchW
The streams of small pleasures fill the lake of happinessI
And the deepest wretchedness of life is continuance of petty painsI
A fool observeth nothing and seemeth wise unto himselfX
A wise man heedeth all things and in his own eyes is a foolY
He that wondereth at nothing hath no capabilities of blissI
But he that scrutinizeth trifles hath a store of pleasure to his handK
If pestilence stalk through the land ye say This is God's doingH
Is it not also his doing when an aphis creepeth on a rose budZ
If an avalanche roll from its Alp ye tremble at the will of ProvidenceI
Is not that will concerned when the sear leaves fall from the poplarN
A thing is great or little only to a mortal's thinkingH
But abstracted from the body all things are alike importantL
The Ancient of Days noteth in his book the idle converse of a creatureN
And happy and wise is the man to whose thought existeth not a trifleG
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Transcribed from the th edition Proverbial Philosophy by Martin Farquhar Tupper by Mick Puttock August Spelling punctuation and grammer left mostly unchanged from the th editionA

Martin Farquhar Tupper



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Of Trifles. From Proverbial Philosophy is a poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.



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