The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death. 
The beggar’s rags fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear. 
The soldier, armed with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer’s sun. 
The poor man’s farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric’s shore. 
One mite wrung from the labourer’s hands
Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy. 
He who mocks the infant’s faith
Shall be mocked in age and death. 
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne’er get out. 
He who respects the infant’s faith
Triumphs over hell and death.

  FROM MILTON

  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.

  [REASON AND IMAGINATION]

  The negation is the Spectre, the reasoning power in man: 
  This is a false body, an incrustation over my immortal
  Spirit, a selfhood which must be put off and annihilated alway. 
  To cleanse the face of my spirit by self-examination,
  To bathe in the waters of life, to wash off the not human,
  I come in self-annihilation and the grandeur of inspiration;
  To cast off rational demonstration by faith in the Saviour,
  To cast off the rotten rags of memory by inspiration,
  To cast off Bacon, Locke, and Newton from Albion’s covering,
  To take off his filthy garments and clothe him with imagination;
  To cast aside from poetry all that is not inspiration,
  That it no longer shall dare to mock with the aspersion of madness
  Cast on the inspired by the tame high finisher of paltry blots
  Indefinite or paltry rhymes, or paltry harmonies,
  Who creeps into state government like a caterpillar to destroy;
  To cast off the idiot questioner, who is always questioning,
  But never capable of answering; who sits with a sly grin
  Silent plotting when to question, like a thief in a cave;
  Who publishes doubt and calls it knowledge; whose science is despair,
  Whose pretence to knowledge is envy, whose whole science is
  To destroy the wisdom of ages, to gratify ravenous envy
  That rages round him like a wolf, day and night, without rest. 
  He smiles with condescension; he talks of benevolence and virtue,