The Mingled Cup Poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper

Happier under other skies,
--So dreams man--
Happier, link'd with other ties,
Better, worthier, and more wise
Were Life's plan:

Anyhow but as things are,
--So man dreams--
Born beneath some kindlier star
Surely Life were nobler far
Than now seems!

Most of us are dreamers here,
Wishing a change;
Athirst to spice our common cheer,
This dull routine of daily sphere,
With new and strange.

Most are murmurers, kicking still
Against our lot;
Unbelieving God's wise will,
That portions human good and ill,
And favours not.

Discontent looks on, and longs,
Envying other;
Counting up his scars and wrongs
Each man covets what belongs
To his brother.

Meantime, Duty's leaf and flower
Both must wither;
And, for Peace of Mind, -- each hour
Breeds its harpies to devour,
Flapping hither!

Then does Life, so vain at best,
Pine more weakly,
Vampires draining it of rest,
Where Contentment had been blest
Bearing meekly.

Oh let be! thy fate is fix'd,
Cast by Heaven;
Future, Past, and all betwixt
Is a chalice shrewdly mixt,--
Must and leaven:

Well fermented, weal and woe
Make soul's wine,--
And hereafter thou shalt know
How Life's bitter yeast below
Doth refine.

Earth may make thee taste her gall,
Or drink it up;
But Heaven shall make amends for all
When thou dost keep high festival
At God's own cup.