1.Milton [excerpt] by William Blake And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark Satanic Mills? Bring me my bow of burning gold! Bring me my arrows of desire! Bring me my spear!O clouds,unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire! I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant land. 2.The Divine Image by William Blake 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, Is Man,his child and care. For Mercy has a human heart, Pity,a human face: And Love,the human form divine, And Peace,the human dress
1.Milton [excerpt] by William Blake And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England’s mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England’s pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark Satanic Mills? Bring me my bow of burning gold! Bring me my arrows of desire! Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire! I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem In England’s green and pleasant land. 2. The Divine Image by William Blake 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, Is Man, his child and care. For Mercy has a human heart, Pity, a human face: And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress
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. Where Mercy,Love,Pity dwell, There God is dwelling too. 3.The Chimney-Sweeper by William Blake 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. There's little Tom Dacre,who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back,was shaved;so I said, 'Hush,Tom!never mind it,for,when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.' And so he was quiet,and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping,he had such a sight!-- That thousands of sweepers,Dick,Joe,Ned,and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black. And by came an angel,who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins,and set them all free; Then down a green plain,leaping,laughing,they run And wash in a river,and shine in the sun. Then naked and white,all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds,and sport in the wind; And the angel told Tom,if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father,and never want joy. And so Tom awoke,and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work. Though the morning was cold,Tom was happy and warm:
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. Where Mercy, Love, & Pity dwell, There God is dwelling too. 3. The Chimney-Sweeper by William Blake 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. There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved; so I said, 'Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when your head's bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.' And so he was quiet, and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!-- That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black. And by came an angel, who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins, and set them all free; Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind; And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father, and never want joy. And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work. Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm:
So,if all do their duty,they need not fear harm. 4.The Fly by William Blake Little fly, Thy summer's play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath, And the want Of thought is death, Then am I A happy fly, If I live, Or if I die. 5.The Schoolboy I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me: O what sweet company！ But to go to school in a summer morn,- O it drives all joy away! Under a cruel eye outworn
So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. 4. The Fly by William Blake Little fly, Thy summer’s play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath, And the want Of thought is death, Then am I A happy fly, If I live, Or if I die. 5. The Schoolboy I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me: O what sweet company! But to go to school in a summer morn, - O it drives all joy away! Under a cruel eye outworn
The little ones spend the day In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour; Nor in my book can I take delight. Nor sit in learning's bower, Worn through with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child,when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring! O father and mother if buds are nipped, And blossoms blown away; And if the tender plants are stripped Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and care's dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy, Or bless the mellowing year, When the blasts of winter appear? 6.Holy Thursday by William Blake Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty! And their sun does never shine. And their fields are bleak bare. And their ways are fill'd with thorns
The little ones spend the day In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour; Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learning's bower, Worn through with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring! O father and mother if buds are nipped, And blossoms blown away; And if the tender plants are stripped Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and care's dismay, - How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy, Or bless the mellowing year, When the blasts of winter appear? 6. Holy Thursday by William Blake Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty! And their sun does never shine. And their fields are bleak & bare. And their ways are fill'd with thorns
It is eternal winter there. For where-e'er the sun does shine, And where-e'er the rain does fall: Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall. 7.Cradle Song by William Blake Sleep,sleep,beauty bright, Dreaming in the joys of night; Sleep,sleep;in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep. Sweet babe,in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles. As thy softest limbs I feel Smiles as of the morning steal O'er thy cheek,and o'er thy breast Where thy little heart doth rest. O the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep! When thy little heart doth wake, Then the dreadful night shall break. 8.Love's Secret by William Blake Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind doth move Silently,invisibly. I told my love,I told my love
It is eternal winter there. For where-e’er the sun does shine, And where-e’er the rain does fall: Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall. 7. Cradle Song by William Blake Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, Dreaming in the joys of night; Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep. Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles. As thy softest limbs I feel Smiles as of the morning steal O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast Where thy little heart doth rest. O the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep! When thy little heart doth wake, Then the dreadful night shall break. 8. Love's Secret by William Blake Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love