PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY-SONNET 21

Sacred Homiletics.Those homiletics that with genteel work of art,did by time sculpture,The abiding forest where every adherent doth adhere,Will play moult to this burning gales of achilleels heels browbeated censure,And that unfair roses,in the unfairest wedge of rudderless shore,which unfairly doth primrose bank,For never a wasting venom,so leads to its gangrene,To vicious dusk and confines infections there,Sag checker'd with undrawn pedagogue and pebbles of its pedantic cobwebs gone quite vacuous,Viles overshadow'd brink and inestinguishable ubiquitous:Then were not every artistic distillery gone vapid,facile and factitious,A contagious element,inextricable,in the metropolis of gregarious flocks, Contagion's impulse,with effect as embankment were encumbered,Nor it quarrantined,nor it sequestrate its presumptious volleys what they were,But a handful of gather'd flowers,distilled though with winds blow,Lease but their arts: still blands beyond compare.