William Blake

Nothing can be more contemptible than to suppose Public RECORDS to be True.

Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief?

When the voices of children are heard on the green And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast And everything else is still.

"For washed in life's river, My bright mane forever Shall shine like the gold As Iguard o'er the fold."

And there the lion's ruddy eyes Shall flow with tears of gold, And pitying the tender cries, And walking round the fold, Saying: "Wrath by his meekness, And by his health, sickness,

The moon like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight, Sits and smiles on the night.

Then every man, of every clime, That prays in his distress, Prays to the human form divine, Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. And all must love the human form, In heathen, Turk, or Jew;

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love All pray in their distress; And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness.For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is God, our father dear, And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love

When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!'weep! So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear To lean in joy upon our Father's knee; And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him and he will then love me.

And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love, And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white; White as an angel is the English child, But I am black as if bereaved of light.

Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly bright.

Sing louder around To the bells' cheerful sound, While our sports shall be seen On the ecchoing green.

And I made a rural pen, And I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear.

Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: "Pipe a song about a Lamb." So I piped with merry cheer;

They suppose that Woman's Love is Sin; in consequence all the Loves & Graces with them are Sin.

Active Evil is better than Passive Good.

Forgiveness of enemies can only come upon their repentance.

True superstition is ignorant honesty & this is beloved of god and man.

How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move! The sound is forced, the notes are few!

Like a fiend in a cloud, With howling woe, After night I do crowd, And with night will go; I turn my back to the east, From whence comforts have increased;

My silks and fine array, My smiles and languished air, By love are driv'n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.

He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.