YOU doubt if there be any God? Doubt is the torpid man's complaint; Still hibernating 'neath your clod, Your sins and virtues grow too faint. But come where life is all ablow: Be a murderer or a saint, And you will know. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON SIR PALMES FAIRBORNE'S TOMB, IN WESTERMINSTER ABBEY by JOHN DRYDEN CACOETHES SCRIBENDI by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE CLIFF SWALLOWS by DEBRA NYSTROM LONG DELAYED by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE!; A LEGEND OF PALESTINE AND -- WEST KENT by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THOMAS A KEMPIS: DE IMITATIONE CHRISTI by RICHARD ROGERS BOWKER |