Edmund Vance Cooke
Poetry - Poem by Edmund Vance Cooke
'A Triplet of Quatrains.'
To deftly do what many dimly think;
To fund a feeling for the world to borrow;
To turn a tear to printer's ink;
To make a sonnet of a sorrow.
This trouble seems to be
Chief in theology:
Each thinks the hymn should be, --
Nearer, my God, to Thee.
'The Mystery of Evil':
The rake upon a wanton wastes the wiles
Which dazzle innocence.
The nettle guards itself; the lily smiles
Unheedful of defence.
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