You will often hear them mutter —
Fellow men and brother men —
When he's down and in the gutter:
" O he'll never rise agen! "
And they turn aside and beckon
To the trainers of their pride:
He is one the less to reckon
In the selfish race they ride.

'Tis the old, deep-down survival
Of the savage in mankind:
In the triumph o'er a rival
Whom his weakness left behind.
Weakness, or a vice resulting
From a hell we never knew,
And we go our ways exulting
That our " strength " has pulled us through.

Though we never learned to labour,
Love, or hate, or hope, or doubt,
We seem better than our neighbour
When our neighbour's down and out!
We, in our pretended meekness,
Sorrow, pity, help and all,
We feel stronger for his weakness,
We feel nobler for his fall.

(Yes, Hypocrisy resenteth
Its own self in tale and song,
While the prodigal repenteth,
And the godly son goes wrong.
But I know the Shadow stealing
Where Ambition broods and smarts —
Jealousy! The deep down feeling
In our secret heart of hearts!)

While we pass in pride before him,
Sullen in his misery,
There's a woman bending o'er him,
Seeing things we cannot see!
Though we walk in highest places,
Seeming honest, straight and true,
She is saying to our faces:
" He's a better man than you. "

Let us not be sure of any
Of our rival fellow men!
I have witnessed far too many
Rise and fall and rise agen.
And the prostitute and liar
Rise to heaven out of hell,
And the drunkard rising higher
Than the man who never fell!

For the love of those who love him,
And the scorn of those who hate;
For his God — or gods above him —
And the mastery of his fate!
And for those brave few friends who are
Ever saying, staunch and true:
" He's a better man than you are —
He's a better man than you! "