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...SONNET: 25 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SAILOR BOY by ALFRED TENNYSON CRY WOE, WOE, AND LET THE GOOD PREVAIL, FR. AGAMEMNON by AESCHYLUS TO SIR JOHN SPENSER KNIGHTE, ALDERMAN OF LONDON by RICHARD BARNFIELD RAIN ON FALL NIGHTS by MILDRED TELFORD BARNWELL A PRAYER FOR NORMA by NONA HATTON BROWN TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, BOTH IN BIRTH AND VIRTUE, EARL OF CUMBERLAND by THOMAS CAMPION |