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 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 washed in life’s river,
     My bright mane forever
     Shall shine like the gold,
     As I guard o’er the fold.”

     THE PIPER AND THE CHILD

     Introduction to ‘Songs of Innocence’

     Piping down the valleys wild,
       Piping songs of pleasant glee,
     On a cloud I saw a child,
       And he laughing said to me:—­

     “Pipe a song about a lamb.” 
       So I piped with merry cheer. 
     “Piper, pipe that song again:” 
       So I piped; he wept to hear.

     “Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
       Sing thy songs of happy cheer:” 
     So I sang the same again,
       While he wept with joy to hear.

     “Piper, sit thee down and write,
       In a book that all may read.” 
     So he vanished from my sight;
       And I plucked a hollow reed;

     And I made a rural pen,
       And I stained the water clear,
     And I wrote my happy songs
       Every child may joy to hear.

     HOLY THURSDAY

     From ‘Songs of Innocence’

     ’Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
     Came children walking two and two, in red and blue and green: 
     Gray-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 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.

     A CRADLE SONG

     From ‘Songs of Experience’

     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.