My fathers built a grisly hell, And throned it with an evil peer; Their sweetest joys breathed brimstone smell Naught else but worship was their fear. But worship stabs the heart awake, Be it from love or ghostly terror; And happier they who praise and quake Than I who coldly mock their error. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALMANACH DU PRINTEMPS VIVAROIS by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE VILLAGE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE MOTHER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALFRED MOIR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PEOPLE'S SURROUNDINGS by MARIANNE MOORE |