Songs of Innocence and of Experience

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 chear,

Piper, pipe that song again—

So I piped, he wept to hear.

Drop thy pipe thy happy pipe

Sing thy songs of happy chear,

So I sung 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 vanish'd from my sight,

And I pluck'd a hollow reed.

And I made a rural pen,

And I stain'd the water clear,

And I wrote my happy songs,

Every child may joy to hear

How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot,

From the morn to the evening he strays:

He shall follows his sheep all the day

And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

For he hears the lamb's innocent call.

And he hears the ewe's tender reply.

He is watchful while they are in peace

For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.

The Sun does arise,

And make happy the skies.

The merry bells ring,

To welcome the Spring.

The sky-lark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,

Sing louder around,

To the bells chearful sound,

While our sports shall be seen

On the Ecchoing Green.

Old John, with white hair

Does laugh away care,

Sitting under the oak,

Among the old folk.

They

They laugh at our play

And soon they all say

"Such, such were the joy

When we all, girls & boys

In our youth time were see

On the Ecchoing Green."

Till the little ones, weary

No more can be merry

The sun does descend

And our sports have an end

Round the laps of their mother

Many sisters and brothers

Like birds in their nest

Are ready for rest

And sport no more see

On the darkening Green.

Little Lamb, who made thee

Dost thou know who made thee

Gave thee life & bid thee feed

By the stream & o'er the mead

Gave thee clothing of delight

Softest clothing, wooly, bright

Gave thee such a tender voice

Making all the vales rejoice

Little Lamb, who made thee

Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee

He is called by thy name

For he calls himself a Lamb

He is meek & he is mild

He became a little child

I a child & thou a lamb

We are called by his name

Little Lamb, God bless thee

Little Lamb, God bless thee!

My mother bore me in the southern wild

And I am black. but O! my soul is white

White as an angel is the English child

But I am black as if bereav'd of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree

And, sitting down before the heat of day

She took me on her lap and kissed me

And pointing to the east began to say:

"Look on the rising sun: there God does live

And gives his light, and gives his heat away

And flowers and trees and beasts and men reciev

Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.

"And we are put on earth a little space

That we may learn to bear the beams of love

And these black bodies and this sunburnt fac

Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

"For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear

The cloud will vanish: we shall hear his voice

Saying: 'Come out from the grove, my love & care

And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.'

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me

And thus I say to little English boy

When I from black and he from white cloud free

And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,

I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bea

To lean in joy upon our father's knee

And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair

And be like him, and he will then love me.

Merry Merry Sparrow

Under leaves so green

A happy Blosso

Sees you, swift as arrow

Seek your cradle narro

Near my Bosom.

Pretty Pretty Robin

Under leaves so green

A happy Blosso

Hears you sobbing, sobbing

Pretty Pretty Robin

Near my Bosom.

When my mother died I was very young

And my father sold me while yet my tongu

Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!

So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head

That curl'd llke a lamb's back. was shav'd: so I sai

"Hush. Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bar

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 or Jack

Were 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 run

And 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 dark

And 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.

"Father! father! where are you going

O do not walk so fast

Speak, father, speak to your 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, & the child did weep

And away the vapour flew.

The little boy lost in the lonely fen

Led by the wand'ring light

Began to cry; but God, ever nigh

Appear'd like his father, in white.

He kissed the child, & by the hand led

And to his mother brought

Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale

Her little boy weeping sought.

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 Emil

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 & be merry, and join with me

To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, Ha, He!"

Sweet dreams form a shad

O'er my lovely infant's head

Sweet dreams of pleasant stream

By happy, silent, moony beams.

Sweet sleep with soft dow

Weave thy brows an infant crown

Sweet sleep, Angel mild

Hover o'er my happy child.

Sweet smiles in the nigh

Hover over my delight

Sweet smiles, Mother's smiles

All 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 fac

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 becarne an infant small

Infant smiles are his own smiles

Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Lov

All pray in their distress

An to these virtues of deligh

Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Lov

Is God, our father dear

And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Lov

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 dim

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 dwel

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 walk'd before, with wands as white as snow

Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow.

O what a multitude they seem'd, 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 heaven's high bower

With silent deligh

Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy groves

Where flocks have took 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 cover'd warm

They visit caves of every beast

To keep them all from harm

If they see any weepin

That should have been sleepin

They pour sleep on their hea

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 lion's ruddy eye

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, sicknes

Is driven awa

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 life's river

My bright mane for eve

Shall shine like the gol

As I guard o'er the fold."

Sound the Flute

Now it's mute

Birds deligh

Day and Night

Nightingal

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 lic

My white neck

Let me pul

Your soft Woo

Let me kis

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 everything 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 awa

Till the morning appears in the skies."

"No, no, let us play, for it is yet nay

And we cannot go to sleep

Besides, in the sky the little birds fly

And the hills are all cover'd with sheep."

"Well, well, go & play till the light fades away

And then go home to bed.

The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh'

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 shad

O'er my Angel-guarded bed

That an Emmet lost its wa

Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled,'wilder'd, and forlorn

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 wigh

Calls the watchman of the night!

"I am set to light the ground

While the beetle goes his round

Follow now the beetle's hum

Little wanderer, hie thee home."

On Another's Sorrow:

Can I see another's woe

And not be in sorrow too

Can I see another's grief

And not seek for kind relief!

Can I see a falling tear

And not feel my sorrow's share

Can a father see his chil

'Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd!

Can a mother sit and hea

An infant groan, an infant fear

No, no! never can it be

Never, never can it be!

And can he who smiles on al

Hear the wren with sorrows small

Hear the small bird's 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 infant's 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 jo

That our grief he may destroy

Till our grief is fled & gon

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!

O Earth O Earth return!

Arise from out the dewy grass;

Night is worn,

And the morn

Rises from the slumberous mass.

Turn away no more:

Why wilt thou turn away

The starry floor

The watry shore

Is giv'n thee till the break of day

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 shore

Starry Jealousy does keep my den

Cold and hoar

Weeping o'er

I hear the Father of the ancient men

Selfish father of men

Cruel jealous selfish fear

Can delight

Chain'd in night

The virgins of youth and morning bear.

Does spring hide its joy

When 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 around

Selfish! vain!

Eternal bane!

That free Love with bondage bound.

Love seeketh not Itself to please,

Nor for itself hath 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 cattles 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.

Is this a holy thing to see,

In a rich and fruitful land,

Babes reducd 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 fill'd with thorns

It 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.

In futurity

I prophetic see,

That the earth from sleep,

(Grave the sentence deep)

Shall arise and seek

For her maker meek:

And the desart wild

Become a garden mild.

In the southern clime,

Where the summers prime,

Never fades away;

Lovely Lyca lay.

Seven summers old

Lovely Lyca told.

She had wanderd long.

Hearing wild birds song.

Sweet sleep come to me

Underneath this tree;

Do father, mother weep.

Where can Lyca sleep.

Lost in desart wild

Is your little child.

How can Lyca sleep,

If her mother weep.

If her heart does ake,

Then let Lyca wake;

If my mother sleep,

Lyca shall not weep.

Frowning frowning night,

O'er this desart bright,

Let thy moon arise,

While I close my eyes.

Sleeping Lyca lay;

While the beasts of prey,

Come from caverns deep,

View'd the maid asleep

The kingly lion stood

And the virgin view'd,

Then he gambold round

O'er the hallowd ground;

Leopards, tygers play,

Round her as she lay;

While the lion old,

Bow'd his mane of gold.

And her bosom lick,

And upon her neck,

From his eyes of Bame,

Ruby tears there came;

While the lioness,

Loos'd her slender dress.

And naked they convey'd

To caves the sleeping maid.

All the night in woe,

Lyca's parents go:

Over vallies deep,

While the desarts weep.

Tired and woe-begone,

Hoarse with making moan:

Arm in arm seven days,

They trac'd the desart ways.

Seven nights they sleep,

Among shadows deep:

And dream they see their child

Starved in desart wild.

Pale thro' pathless ways

The fancied image strays,

Famish'd, weeping, weak

With hollow piteous shriek

Rising from unrest,

The trembling woman prest

With feet of weary woe;

She could no further go.

In his arms he bore,

Her arm'd with sorrow sore;

Till before their way,

A couching lion lay.

Turning back was vain,

Soon his heavy mane,

Bore them to the ground;

Then he stalk'd around,

Smelling to his prey.

But their fears allay,

When he licks their hands;

And silent by them stands.

They look upon his eyes

Fill'd with deep surprise

And wondering behold,

A spirit arm'd in gold.

On his head a crown

On his shoulders down,

Flow'd his golden hair.

Gone was all their care.

Follow me he said,

Weep not for the maid;

In my palace deep,

Lyca lies asleep.

Then they followed,

Where the vision led:

And saw their sleeping child

Among tygers wild.

To this day they dwell

In a lonely dell

Nor fear the wolvish howl,

Nor the lions growl.

A little black thing among the snow:

Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!

Where are thy father & mother! say!

They are both gone up to the church to pray.

Because I was happy upon the heath,

And smil'd among the winters snow:

They clothed me in the clothes of death,

And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

And because I am happy, & dance & sing,

They think they have done me no injury:

And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King

Who make up a heaven of our misery.

When the voices of children, are heard on the green

And whisprings are in the dale:

The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,

My face turns green and pale.

Then come home my children, the sun is gone down

And the dews of night arise

Your spring & your day, are wasted in play

And your winter and night in disguise.

O Rose thou art sick.

The invisible worm,

That flies in the night

In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy:

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.

Little Fly

Thy summers play,

My thoughtless hand

Has brush'd away.

Am not I

A fly like thee?

Or art not thou

A man like me?

For I dance

And drink & sing:

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life

And strength & breath

And the want

Of thought is death;

Then am I

A happy fly,

If I live,

Or if I die.

I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean?

And that I was a maiden Queen:

Guarded by an Angel mild:

Witless woe, was ne'er beguil'd!

And I wept both night and day

And he wip'd my tears away

And I wept both day and night

And hid from him my hearts delight

So he took his wings and fled:

Then the morn blush'd rosy red:

I dried my tears & armed my fears,

With ten thousand shields and spears.

Soon my Angel came again;

I was arm'd, he came in vain:

For the time of youth was fled

And grey hairs were on my head.

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry

In what distant deeps or skies.

Burnt the fire of thine eyes!

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare sieze the fire!

And what shoulder, & what art.

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand! & what dread feet!

What the hammer! what the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain

What the anvil, what dread grasp,

Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spear

And water'd heaven with their tears:

Did he smile his work to see

Did he who made the Lamb make thee!

Tyger Tyger burning bright,

In the forests of the night:

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry!

A flower was offerd to me;

Such a flower as May never bore.

But I said I've a Pretty Rose-tree!

And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree;

To tend her by day and by night.

But my Rose turnd away with jealousy:

And her thorns were my only delight.

Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,

Who countest the steps of the Sun:

Seeking after that sweet golden clime

Where the travellers journey is done.

Where the Youth pined away with desire,

And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:

Arise from their graves and aspire,

Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn:

The humble Sheep, a threatning horn:

While the Lilly white, shall in Love delight,

Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright

I went to the Garden of Love, of Love

And saw what I never had seen:

A Chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,

And Thou shalt not. writ over the door;

So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,

That so many sweet Bowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tomb-stones where flowers should be:

And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars, my joys & desires.

Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold,

But the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm

Besides I can tell where I am use'd well,

Such usage in heaven will never do well.

But if at the Church they would give us some Ale

And a pleasant fire, our souls to regale;

We'd sing and we'd pray, all the live-long day;

Nor ever ance wish from the Church to stray,

Then the Parson might preach & drink & sing.

And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring:

And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church

Would not have bandy children nor fasting nor birch.

And God like a father rejoicing to see,

His children as pleasant and happy as he:

Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel

But kiss him & give him both drink and apparel.

I wander thro' each charter'd street.

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,

In every Infants cry of fear,

In every voice: in every ban,

The mind-forg'd manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry

Every blackning Church appalls,

And the hapless Soldiers sigh

Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro' midnight streets I hear

How the youthful Harlots curse

Blasts the new-born Infants tear

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

Pity would be no more,

If we did not make somebody Poor:

And Mercy no more could be,

If all were as happy as we;

And mutual fear brings peace;

Till the selfish loves increase.

Then Cruelty knits a snare,

And spreads his baits with care.

He sits down with holy fears,

And waters the ground with tears:

Then Humility takes its root

Underneath his foot.

Soon spreads the dismal shade

Of Mystery over his head;

And the Catterpiller and Fly,

Feed on the Mystery.

And it bears the fruit of Deceit,

Ruddy and sweet to eat;

And the Raven his nest has made

In its thickest shade.

The Gods of the earth and sea,

Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree

But their search was all in vain:

There grows one in the Human Brain

My mother groand! my father wept.

Into the dangerous world I leapt:

Helpless, naked, piping loud;

Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my fathers hands:

Striving against my swadling bands:

Bound and weary I thought best

To sulk upon my mothers breast.

I was angry with my friend;

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,

Night & morning with my tears:

And I sunned it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night.

Till it bore an apple bright.

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole,

When the night had veild the pole;

In the morning glad I see;

My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

Nought loves another as itself

Nor venerates another so.

Nor is it possible to Thought

A greater than itself to know:

And Father, how can I love you,

Or any of my brothers more?

I love you like the little bird

That picks up crumbs around the door.

The Priest sat by and heard the child.

In trembling zeal he siez'd his hair:

He led him by his little coat:

And all admir'd the Priestly care.

And standing on the altar high,

Lo what a fiend is here! said he:

One who sets reason up for judge

Of our most holy Mystery.

The weeping child could not be heard.

The weeping parents wept in vain:

They strip'd him to his little shirt.

And bound him in an iron chain.

And burn'd him in a holy place,

Where many had been burn'd before:

The weeping parents wept in vain.

Are such things done on Albions shore.

Children of the future Age,

Reading this indignant page:

Know that in a former time,

Love! sweet Love! was thought a crime

In the Age of Gold,

Free from winters cold:

Youth and maiden bright,

To the holy light,

Naked in the sunny beams delight

Once a youthful pair

Fill'd with softest care:

Met in garden bright,

Where the holy light,

Had just removd the curtains of the night

There in rising day,

On the grass they play:

Parents were afar:

Strangers came not near her fear.

And the maiden soon forgot

Tired with kisses sweet

They agree to meet,

When the silent sleep

Waves o'er heavens deep;

And the weary tired wanderers weep.

To her father white

Came the maiden bright: But his loving look,

Like the holy book,

All her tender limbs with terror shook.

Ona! pale and weak!

To thy father speak:

O the trembling fear!

O the dismal care!

That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair

Whate'er is Born of Mortal Birth,

Must be consumed with the Earth

To rise from Generation free;

Then what have I to do with thee!

The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride

Blow'd in the morn: in evening died

But Mercy changd Death into Sleep;

The Sexes rose to work & weep.

Thou Mother of my Mortal part.

With cruelty didst mould my Heart.

And with false self-decieving tears,

Didst bind my Nostrils Eyes & Ears.

Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay

And me to Mortal Life betray:

The Death of Jesus set me free,

Then what have I to do with thee!

[written sideways:] It is Raised a Spiritual Body

I love to rise in a summer morn,

When the birds sing on every tree;

The distant huntsman winds his horn,

And the sky-lark sings with me.

O! what sweet company.

But to go to school in a summer morn.

O! it drives all joy away;

Under a cruel eye outworn,

The little ones spend the day,

In sighing and dismay.

Ah! then at times I drooping sit,

And spend many an anxious hour.

Nor in my book can I take delight,

Nor sit in learnings bower,

Worn thro' with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy,

Sit in a cage and sing.

How can a child when fears annoy,

But droop his tender wing,

And forget his youthful spring

O! father & mother, if buds are nip'd,

And blossoms blown away,

And if the tender plants are strip'd

Of their joy in the springing day,

By sorrow and cares dismay,

How shall the summer arise in joy.

Or the summer fruits appear.

Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy

Or bless the mellowing year,

When the blasts of winter appear.

Youth of delight come hither:

And see the opening morn,

Image of truth new born.

Doubt is fled & clouds of reason

Dark disputes & artful teazing.

Folly is an endless maze,

Tangled roots perplex her ways,

How many have fallen there!

They stumble all night over bones of the dead;

And feel they know not what but care;

And wish to lead others when they should be led.