{"id":34,"date":"2021-06-04T13:15:49","date_gmt":"2021-06-04T17:15:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/chapter\/william-blake\/"},"modified":"2024-08-08T15:53:48","modified_gmt":"2024-08-08T19:53:48","slug":"william-blake","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/chapter\/william-blake\/","title":{"raw":"William Blake: Songs of Innocence","rendered":"William Blake: Songs of Innocence"},"content":{"raw":"

Introduction<\/h1>\nPiping down the valleys wild,\nPiping songs of pleasant glee,\nOn a cloud I saw a child,\nAnd he laughing said to me:\n\n\u2018Pipe a song about a Lamb!\u2019\nSo I piped with merry cheer.\n\u2018Piper, pipe that song again.\u2019\nSo I piped: he wept to hear.\n\n\u2018Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;\nSing thy songs of happy cheer!\u2019\nSo I sung the same again,\nWhile he wept with joy to hear.\n\n\u2018Piper, sit thee down and write\nIn a book, that all may read.\u2019\nSo he vanished from my sight;\nAnd I plucked a hollow reed,\n\nAnd I made a rural pen,\nAnd I stained the water clear,\nAnd I wrote my happy songs\nEvery child may joy to hear.\n

The Shepherd<\/h1>\nHow sweet is the shepherd\u2019s sweet lot!\nFrom the morn to the evening he strays;\nHe shall follow his sheep all the day,\nAnd his tongue shall be fill\u00e8d with praise.\n\nFor he hears the lambs\u2019 innocent call,\nAnd he hears the ewes\u2019 tender reply;\nHe is watchful while they are in peace,\nFor they know when their shepherd is nigh.\n

The Echoing Green<\/h1>\nThe sun does arise,\nAnd make happy the skies;\nThe merry bells ring\nTo welcome the Spring;\nThe skylark and thrush,\nThe birds of the bush,\nSing louder around\nTo the bells\u2019 cheerful sound;\nWhile our sports shall be seen\nOn the echoing green.\n\nOld John, with white hair,\nDoes laugh away care,\nSitting under the oak,\nAmong the old folk.\nThey laugh at our play,\nAnd soon they all say,\n\u2018Such, such were the joys\nWhen we all\u2014girls and boys\u2014\nIn our youth-time were seen\nOn the echoing green.\u2019\n\nTill the little ones, weary,\nNo more can be merry:\nThe sun does descend,\nAnd our sports have an end.\nRound the laps of their mothers\nMany sisters and brothers,\nLike birds in their nest,\nAre ready for rest,\nAnd sport no more seen\nOn the darkening green.\n

The Lamb<\/h1>\nLittle lamb, who made thee?\nDoes thou know who made thee,\nGave thee life, and bid thee feed\nBy the stream and o\u2019er the mead;\nGave thee clothing of delight,\nSoftest clothing, woolly, bright;\nGave thee such a tender voice,\nMaking all the vales rejoice?\nLittle lamb, who made thee?\nDoes thou know who made thee?\n\nLittle lamb, I\u2019ll tell thee;\nLittle lamb, I\u2019ll tell thee:\nHe is call\u00e8d by thy name,\nFor He calls Himself a Lamb.\nHe is meek, and He is mild,\nHe became a little child.\nI a child, and thou a lamb,\nWe are call\u00e8d by His name.\nLittle lamb, God bless thee!\nLittle lamb, God bless thee!\n

The Little Black Boy<\/h1>\nMy mother bore me in the southern wild,\nAnd I am black, but O my soul is white!\nWhite as an angel is the English child,\nBut I am black, as if bereaved of light.\n\nMy mother taught me underneath a tree,\nAnd, sitting down before the heat of day,\nShe took me on her lap and kiss\u00e8d me,\nAnd, pointing to the East, began to say:\n\n\u2018Look on the rising sun: there God does live,\nAnd gives His light, and gives His heat away,\nAnd flowers and trees and beasts and men receive\nComfort in morning, joy in the noonday.\n\n\u2018And we are put on earth a little space,\nThat we may learn to bear the beams of love;\nAnd these black bodies and this sunburnt face\nAre but a cloud, and like a shady grove.\n\n\u2018For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear,\nThe cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice,\nSaying, \u201cCome out from the grove, my love and care,\nAnd round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.\u201d\u2019\n\nThus did my mother say, and kissed me,\nAnd thus I say to little English boy.\nWhen I from black, and he from white cloud free,\nAnd round the tent of God like lambs we joy,\n\nI\u2019ll shade him from the heat till he can bear\nTo lean in joy upon our Father\u2019s knee;\nAnd then I\u2019ll stand and stroke his silver hair,\nAnd be like him, and he will then love me.\n

The Blossom<\/h1>\nMerry, merry sparrow!\nUnder leaves so green\nA happy blossom\nSees you, swift as arrow,\nSeek your cradle narrow,\nNear my bosom.\nPretty, pretty robin!\nUnder leaves so green\nA happy blossom\nHears you sobbing, sobbing,\nPretty, pretty robin,\nNear my bosom.\n

The Chimney-Sweeper<\/h1>\nWhen my mother died I was very young,\nAnd my father sold me while yet my tongue\nCould scarcely cry \u2018Weep! weep! weep! weep!\u2019\nSo your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.\n\nThere\u2019s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,\nThat curled like a lamb\u2019s back, was shaved; so I said,\n\u2018Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when your head\u2019s bare,\nYou know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.\u2019\n\nAnd so he was quiet, and that very night,\nAs Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!\u2014\nThat thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,\nWere all of them locked up in coffins of black.\n\nAnd by came an angel, who had a bright key,\nAnd he opened the coffins, and set them all free;\nThen down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run\nAnd wash in a river, and shine in the sun.\n\nThen naked and white, all their bags left behind,\nThey rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind:\nAnd the angel told Tom, if he\u2019d be a good boy,\nHe\u2019d have God for his father, and never want joy.\n\nAnd so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark,\nAnd got with our bags and our brushes to work.\nThough the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm:\nSo, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.\n

The Little Boy Lost<\/h1>\n\u2018Father, father, where are you going?\nO do not walk so fast!\nSpeak, father, speak to your little boy,\nOr else I shall be lost.\u2019\n\nThe night was dark, no father was there,\nThe child was wet with dew;\nThe mire was deep, and the child did weep,\nAnd away the vapour flew.\n

The Little Boy Found<\/h1>\nThe little boy lost in the lonely fen,\nLed by the wandering light,\nBegan to cry, but God, ever nigh,\nAppeared like his father, in white.\n\nHe kissed the child, and by the hand led,\nAnd to his mother brought,\nWho in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale,\nHer little boy weeping sought.\n

Laughing Song<\/h1>\nWhen the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,\nAnd the dimpling stream runs laughing by;\nWhen the air does laugh with our merry wit,\nAnd the green hill laughs with the noise of it;\n\nWhen the meadows laugh with lively green,\nAnd the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene;\nWhen Mary and Susan and Emily\nWith their sweet round mouths sing \u2018Ha ha he!\u2019\n\nWhen the painted birds laugh in the shade,\nWhere our table with cherries and nuts is spread:\nCome live, and be merry, and join with me,\nTo sing the sweet chorus of \u2018Ha ha he!\u2019\n

A Cradle Song<\/h1>\nSweet dreams, form a shade\nO\u2019er my lovely infant\u2019s head!\nSweet dreams of pleasant streams\nBy happy, silent, moony beams!\n\nSweet Sleep, with soft down\nWeave thy brows an infant crown!\nSweet Sleep, angel mild,\nHover o\u2019er my happy child!\n\nSweet smiles, in the night\nHover over my delight!\nSweet smiles, mother\u2019s smiles,\nAll the livelong night beguiles.\n\nSweet moans, dovelike sighs,\nChase not slumber from thy eyes!\nSweet moans, sweeter smiles,\nAll the dovelike moans beguiles.\n\nSleep, sleep, happy child!\nAll creation slept and smiled.\nSleep, sleep, happy sleep,\nWhile o\u2019er thee thy mother weep.\n\nSweet babe, in thy face\nHoly image I can trace;\nSweet babe, once like thee\nThy Maker lay, and wept for me:\n\nWept for me, for thee, for all,\nWhen He was an infant small.\nThou His image ever see,\nHeavenly face that smiles on thee!\n\nSmiles on thee, on me, on all,\nWho became an infant small;\nInfant smiles are His own smiles;\nHeaven and earth to peace beguiles.\n

The Divine Image<\/h1>\nTo Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,\nAll pray in their distress,\nAnd to these virtues of delight\nReturn their thankfulness.\n\nFor Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,\nIs God our Father dear;\nAnd Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,\nIs man, His child and care.\n\nFor Mercy has a human heart;\nPity, a human face;\nAnd Love, the human form divine:\nAnd Peace the human dress.\n\nThen every man, of every clime,\nThat prays in his distress,\nPrays to the human form divine:\nLove, Mercy, Pity, Peace.\n\nAnd all must love the human form,\nIn heathen, Turk, or Jew.\nWhere Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,\nThere God is dwelling too.\n

Holy Thursday<\/h1>\n\u2019Twas on a holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,\nThe children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green:\nGrey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,\nTill into the high dome of Paul\u2019s they like Thames waters flow.\n\nO what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!\nSeated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.\nThe hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,\nThousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.\n\nNow like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,\nOr like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:\nBeneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor.\nThen cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.\n

Night<\/h1>\nThe sun descending in the West,\nThe evening star does shine;\nThe birds are silent in their nest,\nAnd I must seek for mine.\nThe moon, like a flower\nIn heaven\u2019s high bower,\nWith silent delight,\nSits and smiles on the night.\n\nFarewell, green fields and happy groves,\nWhere flocks have took delight,\nWhere lambs have nibbled, silent moves\nThe feet of angels bright;\nUnseen, they pour blessing,\nAnd joy without ceasing,\nOn each bud and blossom,\nAnd each sleeping bosom.\n\nThey look in every thoughtless nest\nWhere birds are covered warm;\nThey visit caves of every beast,\nTo keep them all from harm:\nIf they see any weeping\nThat should have been sleeping,\nThey pour sleep on their head,\nAnd sit down by their bed.\n\nWhen wolves and tigers howl for prey,\nThey pitying stand and weep;\nSeeking to drive their thirst away,\nAnd keep them from the sheep.\nBut, if they rush dreadful,\nThe angels, most heedful,\nReceive each mild spirit,\nNew worlds to inherit.\n\nAnd there the lion\u2019s ruddy eyes\nShall flow with tears of gold:\nAnd pitying the tender cries,\nAnd walking round the fold:\nSaying: \u2018Wrath by His meekness,\nAnd, by His health, sickness,\nIs driven away\nFrom our immortal day.\n\n\u2018And now beside thee, bleating lamb,\nI can lie down and sleep,\nOr think on Him who bore thy name,\nGraze after thee, and weep.\nFor, washed in life\u2019s river,\nMy bright mane for ever\nShall shine like the gold,\nAs I guard o\u2019er the fold.\u2019\n

Spring<\/h1>\nSound the flute!\nNow it\u2019s mute!\nBirds delight,\nDay and night,\nNightingale,\nIn the dale,\nLark in sky,\u2014\nMerrily,\nMerrily, merrily to welcome in the year.\n\nLittle boy,\nFull of joy;\nLittle girl,\nSweet and small;\nCock does crow,\nSo do you;\nMerry voice,\nInfant noise;\nMerrily, merrily to welcome in the year.\n\nLittle lamb,\nHere I am;\nCome and lick\nMy white neck;\nLet me pull\nYour soft wool;\nLet me kiss\nYour soft face;\nMerrily, merrily we welcome in the year.\n

Nurse's Song<\/h1>\nWhen voices of children are heard on the green,\nAnd laughing is heard on the hill,\nMy heart is at rest within my breast,\nAnd everything else is still.\n\u2018Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,\nAnd the dews of night arise;\nCome, come, leave off play, and let us away,\nTill the morning appears in the skies.\u2019\n\n\u2018No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,\nAnd we cannot go to sleep;\nBesides, in the sky the little birds fly,\nAnd the hills are all covered with sheep.\u2019\n\u2018Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,\nAnd then go home to bed.\u2019\nThe little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed,\nAnd all the hills echo\u00e8d.\n

Infant Joy<\/h1>\n\u2018I have no name;\nI am but two days old.\u2019\nWhat shall I call thee?\n\u2018I happy am,\nJoy is my name.\u2019\nSweet joy befall thee!\n\nPretty joy!\nSweet joy, but two days old.\nSweet joy I call thee:\nThou dost smile,\nI sing the while;\nSweet joy befall thee!\n

A Dream<\/h1>\nOnce a dream did weave a shade\nO\u2019er my angel-guarded bed,\nThat an emmet lost its way\nWhere on grass methought I lay.\n\nTroubled, wildered, and forlorn,\nDark, benighted, travel-worn,\nOver many a tangled spray,\nAll heart-broke, I heard her say:\n\n\u2018O my children! do they cry,\nDo they hear their father sigh?\nNow they look abroad to see,\nNow return and weep for me.\u2019\n\nPitying, I dropped a tear:\nBut I saw a glow-worm near,\nWho replied, \u2018What wailing wight\nCalls the watchman of the night?\u2019\n\n\u2018I am set to light the ground,\nWhile the beetle goes his round:\nFollow now the beetle\u2019s hum;\nLittle wanderer, hie thee home!\u2019\n

On Another's Sorrow<\/h1>\nCan I see another\u2019s woe,\nAnd not be in sorrow too?\nCan I see another\u2019s grief,\nAnd not seek for kind relief?\n\nCan I see a falling tear,\nAnd not feel my sorrow\u2019s share?\nCan a father see his child\nWeep, nor be with sorrow filled?\n\nCan a mother sit and hear\nAn infant groan, an infant fear?\nNo, no! never can it be!\nNever, never can it be!\n\nAnd can He who smiles on all\nHear the wren with sorrows small,\nHear the small bird\u2019s grief and care,\nHear the woes that infants bear\u2014\n\nAnd not sit beside the nest,\nPouring pity in their breast,\nAnd not sit the cradle near,\nWeeping tear on infant\u2019s tear?\n\nAnd not sit both night and day,\nWiping all our tears away?\nO no! never can it be!\nNever, never can it be!\n\nHe doth give His joy to all:\nHe becomes an infant small,\nHe becomes a man of woe,\nHe doth feel the sorrow too.\n\nThink not thou canst sigh a sigh,\nAnd thy Maker is not by:\nThink not thou canst weep a tear,\nAnd thy Maker is not near.\n\nO He gives to us His joy,\nThat our grief He may destroy:\nTill our grief is fled and gone\nHe doth sit by us and moan.\n\n
\n\n

Source<\/h2>\n\"Songs of Innocence\" by William Blake is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Wikisource<\/a>.","rendered":"

Introduction<\/h1>\n

Piping down the valleys wild,
\nPiping songs of pleasant glee,
\nOn a cloud I saw a child,
\nAnd he laughing said to me:<\/p>\n

\u2018Pipe a song about a Lamb!\u2019
\nSo I piped with merry cheer.
\n\u2018Piper, pipe that song again.\u2019
\nSo I piped: he wept to hear.<\/p>\n

\u2018Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
\nSing thy songs of happy cheer!\u2019
\nSo I sung the same again,
\nWhile he wept with joy to hear.<\/p>\n

\u2018Piper, sit thee down and write
\nIn a book, that all may read.\u2019
\nSo he vanished from my sight;
\nAnd I plucked a hollow reed,<\/p>\n

And I made a rural pen,
\nAnd I stained the water clear,
\nAnd I wrote my happy songs
\nEvery child may joy to hear.<\/p>\n

The Shepherd<\/h1>\n

How sweet is the shepherd\u2019s sweet lot!
\nFrom the morn to the evening he strays;
\nHe shall follow his sheep all the day,
\nAnd his tongue shall be fill\u00e8d with praise.<\/p>\n

For he hears the lambs\u2019 innocent call,
\nAnd he hears the ewes\u2019 tender reply;
\nHe is watchful while they are in peace,
\nFor they know when their shepherd is nigh.<\/p>\n

The Echoing Green<\/h1>\n

The sun does arise,
\nAnd make happy the skies;
\nThe merry bells ring
\nTo welcome the Spring;
\nThe skylark and thrush,
\nThe birds of the bush,
\nSing louder around
\nTo the bells\u2019 cheerful sound;
\nWhile our sports shall be seen
\nOn the echoing green.<\/p>\n

Old John, with white hair,
\nDoes laugh away care,
\nSitting under the oak,
\nAmong the old folk.
\nThey laugh at our play,
\nAnd soon they all say,
\n\u2018Such, such were the joys
\nWhen we all\u2014girls and boys\u2014
\nIn our youth-time were seen
\nOn the echoing green.\u2019<\/p>\n

Till the little ones, weary,
\nNo more can be merry:
\nThe sun does descend,
\nAnd our sports have an end.
\nRound the laps of their mothers
\nMany sisters and brothers,
\nLike birds in their nest,
\nAre ready for rest,
\nAnd sport no more seen
\nOn the darkening green.<\/p>\n

The Lamb<\/h1>\n

Little lamb, who made thee?
\nDoes thou know who made thee,
\nGave thee life, and bid thee feed
\nBy the stream and o\u2019er the mead;
\nGave thee clothing of delight,
\nSoftest clothing, woolly, bright;
\nGave thee such a tender voice,
\nMaking all the vales rejoice?
\nLittle lamb, who made thee?
\nDoes thou know who made thee?<\/p>\n

Little lamb, I\u2019ll tell thee;
\nLittle lamb, I\u2019ll tell thee:
\nHe is call\u00e8d by thy name,
\nFor He calls Himself a Lamb.
\nHe is meek, and He is mild,
\nHe became a little child.
\nI a child, and thou a lamb,
\nWe are call\u00e8d by His name.
\nLittle lamb, God bless thee!
\nLittle lamb, God bless thee!<\/p>\n

The Little Black Boy<\/h1>\n

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
\nAnd I am black, but O my soul is white!
\nWhite as an angel is the English child,
\nBut I am black, as if bereaved of light.<\/p>\n

My mother taught me underneath a tree,
\nAnd, sitting down before the heat of day,
\nShe took me on her lap and kiss\u00e8d me,
\nAnd, pointing to the East, began to say:<\/p>\n

\u2018Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
\nAnd gives His light, and gives His heat away,
\nAnd flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
\nComfort in morning, joy in the noonday.<\/p>\n

\u2018And we are put on earth a little space,
\nThat we may learn to bear the beams of love;
\nAnd these black bodies and this sunburnt face
\nAre but a cloud, and like a shady grove.<\/p>\n

\u2018For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear,
\nThe cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice,
\nSaying, \u201cCome out from the grove, my love and care,
\nAnd round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.\u201d\u2019<\/p>\n

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me,
\nAnd thus I say to little English boy.
\nWhen I from black, and he from white cloud free,
\nAnd round the tent of God like lambs we joy,<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll shade him from the heat till he can bear
\nTo lean in joy upon our Father\u2019s knee;
\nAnd then I\u2019ll stand and stroke his silver hair,
\nAnd be like him, and he will then love me.<\/p>\n

The Blossom<\/h1>\n

Merry, merry sparrow!
\nUnder leaves so green
\nA happy blossom
\nSees you, swift as arrow,
\nSeek your cradle narrow,
\nNear my bosom.
\nPretty, pretty robin!
\nUnder leaves so green
\nA happy blossom
\nHears you sobbing, sobbing,
\nPretty, pretty robin,
\nNear my bosom.<\/p>\n

The Chimney-Sweeper<\/h1>\n

When my mother died I was very young,
\nAnd my father sold me while yet my tongue
\nCould scarcely cry \u2018Weep! weep! weep! weep!\u2019
\nSo your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
\nThat curled like a lamb\u2019s back, was shaved; so I said,
\n\u2018Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when your head\u2019s bare,
\nYou know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.\u2019<\/p>\n

And so he was quiet, and that very night,
\nAs Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!\u2014
\nThat thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
\nWere all of them locked up in coffins of black.<\/p>\n

And by came an angel, who had a bright key,
\nAnd he opened the coffins, and set them all free;
\nThen down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run
\nAnd wash in a river, and shine in the sun.<\/p>\n

Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,
\nThey rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind:
\nAnd the angel told Tom, if he\u2019d be a good boy,
\nHe\u2019d have God for his father, and never want joy.<\/p>\n

And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark,
\nAnd got with our bags and our brushes to work.
\nThough the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm:
\nSo, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.<\/p>\n

The Little Boy Lost<\/h1>\n

\u2018Father, father, where are you going?
\nO do not walk so fast!
\nSpeak, father, speak to your little boy,
\nOr else I shall be lost.\u2019<\/p>\n

The night was dark, no father was there,
\nThe child was wet with dew;
\nThe mire was deep, and the child did weep,
\nAnd away the vapour flew.<\/p>\n

The Little Boy Found<\/h1>\n

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
\nLed by the wandering light,
\nBegan to cry, but God, ever nigh,
\nAppeared like his father, in white.<\/p>\n

He kissed the child, and by the hand led,
\nAnd to his mother brought,
\nWho in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale,
\nHer little boy weeping sought.<\/p>\n

Laughing Song<\/h1>\n

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
\nAnd the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
\nWhen the air does laugh with our merry wit,
\nAnd the green hill laughs with the noise of it;<\/p>\n

When the meadows laugh with lively green,
\nAnd the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene;
\nWhen Mary and Susan and Emily
\nWith their sweet round mouths sing \u2018Ha ha he!\u2019<\/p>\n

When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
\nWhere our table with cherries and nuts is spread:
\nCome live, and be merry, and join with me,
\nTo sing the sweet chorus of \u2018Ha ha he!\u2019<\/p>\n

A Cradle Song<\/h1>\n

Sweet dreams, form a shade
\nO\u2019er my lovely infant\u2019s head!
\nSweet dreams of pleasant streams
\nBy happy, silent, moony beams!<\/p>\n

Sweet Sleep, with soft down
\nWeave thy brows an infant crown!
\nSweet Sleep, angel mild,
\nHover o\u2019er my happy child!<\/p>\n

Sweet smiles, in the night
\nHover over my delight!
\nSweet smiles, mother\u2019s smiles,
\nAll the livelong night beguiles.<\/p>\n

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
\nChase not slumber from thy eyes!
\nSweet moans, sweeter smiles,
\nAll the dovelike moans beguiles.<\/p>\n

Sleep, sleep, happy child!
\nAll creation slept and smiled.
\nSleep, sleep, happy sleep,
\nWhile o\u2019er thee thy mother weep.<\/p>\n

Sweet babe, in thy face
\nHoly image I can trace;
\nSweet babe, once like thee
\nThy Maker lay, and wept for me:<\/p>\n

Wept for me, for thee, for all,
\nWhen He was an infant small.
\nThou His image ever see,
\nHeavenly face that smiles on thee!<\/p>\n

Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
\nWho became an infant small;
\nInfant smiles are His own smiles;
\nHeaven and earth to peace beguiles.<\/p>\n

The Divine Image<\/h1>\n

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
\nAll pray in their distress,
\nAnd to these virtues of delight
\nReturn their thankfulness.<\/p>\n

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
\nIs God our Father dear;
\nAnd Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
\nIs man, His child and care.<\/p>\n

For Mercy has a human heart;
\nPity, a human face;
\nAnd Love, the human form divine:
\nAnd Peace the human dress.<\/p>\n

Then every man, of every clime,
\nThat prays in his distress,
\nPrays to the human form divine:
\nLove, Mercy, Pity, Peace.<\/p>\n

And all must love the human form,
\nIn heathen, Turk, or Jew.
\nWhere Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,
\nThere God is dwelling too.<\/p>\n

Holy Thursday<\/h1>\n

\u2019Twas on a holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
\nThe children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green:
\nGrey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,
\nTill into the high dome of Paul\u2019s they like Thames waters flow.<\/p>\n

O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!
\nSeated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.
\nThe hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
\nThousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.<\/p>\n

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,
\nOr like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:
\nBeneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor.
\nThen cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.<\/p>\n

Night<\/h1>\n

The sun descending in the West,
\nThe evening star does shine;
\nThe birds are silent in their nest,
\nAnd I must seek for mine.
\nThe moon, like a flower
\nIn heaven\u2019s high bower,
\nWith silent delight,
\nSits and smiles on the night.<\/p>\n

Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
\nWhere flocks have took delight,
\nWhere lambs have nibbled, silent moves
\nThe feet of angels bright;
\nUnseen, they pour blessing,
\nAnd joy without ceasing,
\nOn each bud and blossom,
\nAnd each sleeping bosom.<\/p>\n

They look in every thoughtless nest
\nWhere birds are covered warm;
\nThey visit caves of every beast,
\nTo keep them all from harm:
\nIf they see any weeping
\nThat should have been sleeping,
\nThey pour sleep on their head,
\nAnd sit down by their bed.<\/p>\n

When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
\nThey pitying stand and weep;
\nSeeking to drive their thirst away,
\nAnd keep them from the sheep.
\nBut, if they rush dreadful,
\nThe angels, most heedful,
\nReceive each mild spirit,
\nNew worlds to inherit.<\/p>\n

And there the lion\u2019s ruddy eyes
\nShall flow with tears of gold:
\nAnd pitying the tender cries,
\nAnd walking round the fold:
\nSaying: \u2018Wrath by His meekness,
\nAnd, by His health, sickness,
\nIs driven away
\nFrom our immortal day.<\/p>\n

\u2018And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
\nI can lie down and sleep,
\nOr think on Him who bore thy name,
\nGraze after thee, and weep.
\nFor, washed in life\u2019s river,
\nMy bright mane for ever
\nShall shine like the gold,
\nAs I guard o\u2019er the fold.\u2019<\/p>\n

Spring<\/h1>\n

Sound the flute!
\nNow it\u2019s mute!
\nBirds delight,
\nDay and night,
\nNightingale,
\nIn the dale,
\nLark in sky,\u2014
\nMerrily,
\nMerrily, merrily to welcome in the year.<\/p>\n

Little boy,
\nFull of joy;
\nLittle girl,
\nSweet and small;
\nCock does crow,
\nSo do you;
\nMerry voice,
\nInfant noise;
\nMerrily, merrily to welcome in the year.<\/p>\n

Little lamb,
\nHere I am;
\nCome and lick
\nMy white neck;
\nLet me pull
\nYour soft wool;
\nLet me kiss
\nYour soft face;
\nMerrily, merrily we welcome in the year.<\/p>\n

Nurse’s Song<\/h1>\n

When voices of children are heard on the green,
\nAnd laughing is heard on the hill,
\nMy heart is at rest within my breast,
\nAnd everything else is still.
\n\u2018Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
\nAnd the dews of night arise;
\nCome, come, leave off play, and let us away,
\nTill the morning appears in the skies.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
\nAnd we cannot go to sleep;
\nBesides, in the sky the little birds fly,
\nAnd the hills are all covered with sheep.\u2019
\n\u2018Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
\nAnd then go home to bed.\u2019
\nThe little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed,
\nAnd all the hills echo\u00e8d.<\/p>\n

Infant Joy<\/h1>\n

\u2018I have no name;
\nI am but two days old.\u2019
\nWhat shall I call thee?
\n\u2018I happy am,
\nJoy is my name.\u2019
\nSweet joy befall thee!<\/p>\n

Pretty joy!
\nSweet joy, but two days old.
\nSweet joy I call thee:
\nThou dost smile,
\nI sing the while;
\nSweet joy befall thee!<\/p>\n

A Dream<\/h1>\n

Once a dream did weave a shade
\nO\u2019er my angel-guarded bed,
\nThat an emmet lost its way
\nWhere on grass methought I lay.<\/p>\n

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
\nDark, benighted, travel-worn,
\nOver many a tangled spray,
\nAll heart-broke, I heard her say:<\/p>\n

\u2018O my children! do they cry,
\nDo they hear their father sigh?
\nNow they look abroad to see,
\nNow return and weep for me.\u2019<\/p>\n

Pitying, I dropped a tear:
\nBut I saw a glow-worm near,
\nWho replied, \u2018What wailing wight
\nCalls the watchman of the night?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I am set to light the ground,
\nWhile the beetle goes his round:
\nFollow now the beetle\u2019s hum;
\nLittle wanderer, hie thee home!\u2019<\/p>\n

On Another’s Sorrow<\/h1>\n

Can I see another\u2019s woe,
\nAnd not be in sorrow too?
\nCan I see another\u2019s grief,
\nAnd not seek for kind relief?<\/p>\n

Can I see a falling tear,
\nAnd not feel my sorrow\u2019s share?
\nCan a father see his child
\nWeep, nor be with sorrow filled?<\/p>\n

Can a mother sit and hear
\nAn infant groan, an infant fear?
\nNo, no! never can it be!
\nNever, never can it be!<\/p>\n

And can He who smiles on all
\nHear the wren with sorrows small,
\nHear the small bird\u2019s grief and care,
\nHear the woes that infants bear\u2014<\/p>\n

And not sit beside the nest,
\nPouring pity in their breast,
\nAnd not sit the cradle near,
\nWeeping tear on infant\u2019s tear?<\/p>\n

And not sit both night and day,
\nWiping all our tears away?
\nO no! never can it be!
\nNever, never can it be!<\/p>\n

He doth give His joy to all:
\nHe becomes an infant small,
\nHe becomes a man of woe,
\nHe doth feel the sorrow too.<\/p>\n

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
\nAnd thy Maker is not by:
\nThink not thou canst weep a tear,
\nAnd thy Maker is not near.<\/p>\n

O He gives to us His joy,
\nThat our grief He may destroy:
\nTill our grief is fled and gone
\nHe doth sit by us and moan.<\/p>\n

\n

Source<\/h2>\n

“Songs of Innocence” by William Blake is in the public domain. This version was retrieved from Wikisource<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"menu_order":1,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-34","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry"],"part":33,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/34","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/34\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":35,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/34\/revisions\/35"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/33"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/34\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=34"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=34"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=34"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/poetryandpoetics2024\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=34"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}