Poems of William Blake | Page 2

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.
THE LITTLE BOY LOST
"Father, father, where are you going?
Oh do not walk so fast!
Speak, father, speak to
you little boy,
Or else I shall be lost."
The night was dark, no father was there,
The child was wet with dew;
The mire was
deep, and the child did weep,
And away the vapour flew.
THE LITTLE BOY FOUND
The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wandering light,
Began to cry, but
God, ever nigh,

Appeared like his father, in white.
He kissed the child, and by the hand led,
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow
pale, through the lonely dale,
The little boy weeping sought.

LAUGHING SONG
When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs
laughing by;
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs
with the noise of it;
when the meadows laugh with lively green,
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry
scene,
When Mary and Susan and Emily
With their sweet round mouths sing "Ha, ha
he!"
When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table with cherries and nuts is
spread:
Come live, and be merry, and join with me,
To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha,
ha, he!"
A SONG
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant
streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown
Sweet Sleep, angel
mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smile,
All
the livelong night beguile.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
Sweet moan,
sweeter smile,
All the dovelike moans beguile.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,

While o'er thee doth mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy
Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,

Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are his own
smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
DIVINE IMAGE
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,
and Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.
HOLY THURSDAY
'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
Came children walking two and
two, in read, and blue, and green: Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as
white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.
Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town! Seated in companies
they sit, with radiance all their own. The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of
lambs,
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wild they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious
thunderings the seats of heaven among:
Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians
of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
NIGHT
The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in
their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high
bower,
With silent delight,
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
Where flocks have ta'en delight.
Where
lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,

And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest
Where birds are covered warm;
They visit caves
of every beast,
To keep them all from harm:
If they see any weeping
That should
have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers howl for prey,

They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive
their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.
But, if they rush dreadful,
The
angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.
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,
Are driven away
From our immortal