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.
Cruelty
has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face
Terror, the Human Form Divine
And Secrecy, the Human Dress
The
Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal‘d
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.
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 wjth 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
AND DID THOSE FEET IN ANCIENT TIME
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountain green
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
An did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon clouded hills
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold;
Bring me my arrow 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.
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame the fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What a hand dare size the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? And 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 spears
And watered Heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
To the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
SUNFLOWER
Ah, sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traverler's journey is done;
Where the youth pined away with desire
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from their graves and aspire
Where y sunflower wishes to go.