William Blake - The Greatest Works of William Blake (With Complete Original Illustrations)

Sleep sleep happy child.

All creation slept and smil’d.

Sleep sleep, happy sleep,

While o’er thee thy 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 & earth to peace beguiles.

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

Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean

The children walking two & two in red & blue & green

Grey headed beadles walkd before with wands as white as snow

Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow

O what a multitude they seemd 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 & girls raising their innocent hands

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song

Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among

Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor

Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door

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 heavens high bower;

With silent delight,

Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell green fields and happy groves,

Where flocks have took delight;

Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves

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 coverd 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 tygers 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,

Recieve each mild spirit,

New worlds to inherit.

And there the lions 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,

Is driven away,

From our immortal day.

And now beside thee bleating lamb,

I can lie down and sleep;

Or think on him who bore thy name,

Graze after thee and weep.

For wash’d in lifes river,

My bright mane for ever,

Shall shine like the gold,

As I guard o’er the fold.

Sound the Flute!

Now it’s mute.

Birds delight

Day and Night.

Nightingale

In the dale

Lark in Sky

Merrily

Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year

Little Boy

Full of joy.

Little Girl

Sweet and small,

Cock does crow

So do you.

Merry voice

Infant noise

Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year

Little Lamb

Here I am,

Come and lick

My white neck.

Let me pull

Your soft Wool.

Let me kiss

Your soft face.

Merrily Merrily we welcome in the Year

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 every thing else is still

Then come home my children, the sun is gone down

And the dews of night arise

Come come leave off play, and let us away

Till the morning appears in the skies

No no let us play, for it is yet day

And we cannot go to sleep

Besides in the sky, the little birds fly

And the hills are all coverd with sheep

Well well go & play till the light fades away

And then go home to bed

The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh’d

And all the hills ecchoed

I have no name

I am but two days old.—

What shall I call thee?

I happy am

Joy is my name,—

Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy but two days old,

Sweet joy I call thee;

Thou dost smile.

I sing the while

Sweet joy befall thee.

Once a dream did weave a shade,

O’er my Angel-guarded bed,

That an Emmet lost it’s way

Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled wilderd and folorn

Dark benighted travel-worn,

Over many a tangled spray

All heart-broke I heard her say.

O my children! do they cry

Do they hear their father sigh.

Now they look abroad to see,

Now return and weep for me.

Pitying I drop’d a tear:

But I saw a glow-worm near:

Who replied. What wailing wight

Calls the watchman of the night.

I am set to light the ground,

While the beetle goes his round:

Follow now the beetles hum,

Little wanderer hie thee home.

Can I see anothers woe,

And not be in sorrow too.

Can I see anothers grief,

And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,

And not feel my sorrows share,

Can a father see his child,

Weep, nor be with sorrow fill’d.

Can a mother sit and hear,

An infant groan an infant fear—

No no never can it be.

Never never can it be.

And can he who smiles on all

Hear the wren with sorrows small,

Hear the small birds grief & care

Hear the woes that infants bear—

And not sit beside the nest

Pouring pity in their breast,

And not sit the cradle near

Weeping tear on infants tear.

And not sit both night & day,

Wiping all our tears away.

O! no never can it be.

Never never can it be.

He doth give his joy to all.

He becomes an infant small.

He becomes a man of woe

He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not, thou canst sigh a sigh,

And thy maker is not by.

Think not, thou canst weep a tear,

And thy maker is not near.

O! he gives to us his joy,

That our grief he may destroy

Till our grief is fled & gone

He doth sit by us and moan

Hear the voice of the Bard!

Who Present, Past, & Future sees

Whose ears have heard,

The Holy Word,

That walk’d among the ancient trees.

Calling the lapsed Soul

And weeping in the evening dew:

That might controll,

The starry pole;

And fallen fallen light renew!