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THE CHIMNEY SWEEPERWhen my mother died I was very young,And my father sold me while yet my tongue,Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep.So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep. Theres little Tom Dacre, who cried when his headThat curi'd like a lambs back, was shav'd, so I said,Hush Tom never mind it, for when your head's bare,You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair. And so he was quiet, & that very night,As Tom was a sleeping he had such a sight,That thousands of sweepers Dick, Joe, Ned & JackWere all of them lock'd up in coffins of black, And by came an Angel who had a bright key,And he open'd the coffins & set them all free.Then down a green plain leaping laughing they runAnd wash in a river and shine in the Sun. Then naked & white, 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 & never want joy. And so Tom awoke and we rose in the darkAnd got with our bags & our brushes to work.Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm.So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.THE LITTLE BOY LOST Father, father, where are you going0 do not walk so fast.Speak father, speak to your little boyOr else I shall be lost, The night was dark no father was thereThe child was wet with dew.The mire was deep, & the child did weepAnd away the vapour flew.THE LITTLE BOY FOUND The little boy lost in the lonely fen,Led by the wand'ring light,Began to cry, but God ever nigh,Appeard like his father in white. He kissed the child & by the hand ledAnd to his mother brought,Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely daleHer little boy weeping sought.LAUGHING SONG When the green woods laugh with the voice of joyAnd 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 greenAnd 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 shadeWhere our table with cherries and nuts is spreadCome live & be merry and join with me,To sing the sweet chorus of Ha, Ha, He.A CRADLE SONG Sweet dreams form a shade,O'er my lovely infants 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 Mothers smilesAll the livelong night beguiles. Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,Chase not slumber from thy eyes,Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,All the dovelike moans beguiles. 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,THE DIVINE IMAGE To Mercy Pity Peace and Love,All pray in their distress:And to these virtues of delightReturn 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 heartPity, a human face:And Love, the human form divine,Ahd Peace, the human dress. Then every man of every clime,That prays in his distress,Prays to the human form divineLove 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.HOLY THURSDAY Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces cleanThe children walking two & two in red & blue & greenGrey headed beadles walkd before with wands as white as snowTill into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow O what a multitude they seemd these flowers of London townSeated in companies they sit with radiance all their ownThe hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambsThousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of songOr like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven amongBeneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poorThen cherish pity; lest you drive an angel from your doorNIGHT 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 movesThe 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 sleepingThey pour sleep on their headAnd sit down by their bed. When wolves and tygers howl for preyThey 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 meeknessAnd by his health, sickness,Is driven away,From our immortal day. And now beside thee bieating lamb,I can lie down and sleep;Or think on him who bore thy name,Grase after thee and weep.For wash'd in lifes river,My bright inane for ever,Shall shine like the gold,As I guard o'er the fold.SPRING Sound the Flute!Now it's mute.Birds delightDay and Night.NightingaleIn the daleLark in SkyMerrilyMerrily Merrily to welcome in the Year Little BoyFull of joy.Little GirlSweet and small.Cock does crowSo do you.Merry voiceInfant noiseMerrily Merrily to welcome in the Year Little LambHere I am,Come and lickMy white neck.Let me pullYour soft Wool.Let me kissYour soft face.Merrily Merrily we welcome in the YearNURSE'S SONG When the voices of children are heard on the greenAnd laughing is heard on the hill,My heart is at rest within my breastAnd everything else is still Then come home my children, the sun is gone downAnd the dews of night ariseCome come leave off play, and let us awayTill the morning appears in the skies No no let us play, for it is yet dayAnd we cannot go to sleepBesides in the sky, the little birds flyAnd the hills are all coverd with sheep Well well go & play till the light fades awayAnd then go home to bedThe little ones leaped & shouted & laugh'dAnd all the hills ecchoedINFANT JOY I have no nameI am but two days old. -What shall I call thee?I happy amJoy 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 whileSweet joy befall thee.A DREAM Once a dream did weave a shade,O'er my Angel-guarded bed,That an Emmet lost it's wayWhere on grass methought I lay. Troubled wilderd and folornDark 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 wightCalls 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.ON ANOTHERS SORROW 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 fili'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 allHear the wren with sorrows small,Hear the small birds grief & careHear the woes that infants bear - And not sit beside the nestPouring pity in their breast.And not sit the cradle nearWeeping 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 woeHe 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 destroyTill our grief is fled & goneHe doth sit by us and moan.* SONGS OF EXPERIENCE * INTRODUCTION Hear the voice of the Bard!Who Present, Past, & Future seesWhose ears have heard,The Holy Word,That walk'd among the ancient trees. Calling the lapsed SoulAnd weeping in the evening dew:That might controllThe starry pole:And fallen fallen light renew! O Earth O Earth return!Arise from out the dewy grass;Night is worn,And the mornRises from the slumberous mass. Turn away no more:Why wilt thou turn awayThe starry floorThe watry shoreIs giv'n thee till the break of day. EARTH'S ANSWER Earth rais'd up her head,From the darkness dread & drear,Her light fled:Stony dread!And her locks cover'd with grey despair. Prison'd on watry shoreStarry Jealousy does keep my denCold and hoarWeeping o'erI hear the Father of the ancient men Selfish father of rtienGruel jealous selfish fearCan delightChain'd in nightThe virgins of youth and morning bear. Does spring hide its joyWhen buds and blossoms grow?Does the sower?Sow by night?Or the plowman in darkness plow? Break this heavy chain,That does freeze my bones aroundSelfish! vain!Eternal bane!That free Love with bondage bound.THE CLOD & THE PEBBLE Love seeketh not Itself to please,Nor for itself hatli any care;But for another gives its ease,And builds a Heaven in Hells despair. So sang a little Clod of Clay,Trodden with the catties feet;But a Pebble of the brook,Warbled out these metres meet. Love seeketh only Self to please,To bind another to Its delight:Joys in anothers loss of ease,And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.HOLY THURSDAY Is this a holy thing to see,In a rich and fruitful land,Babes redued to misery,Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song?Can it be a song of joy?And so many children poor?It is a land of poverty! And their sun does never shine.And their fields are bleak & bare,And their ways are fili'd with thornsIt is eternal winter there. For where-e'er the sun does shine,And where-e'er the rain does fall:Babe can never hunger there,Nor poverty the mind appall.Date: 2015-12-18; view: 791
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