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[The book printer - Amman]

William Blake : Holy Thursday

Is this a holy thing to see1,
In a rich and fruitful land:
Babes reduced 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 and bare,
And their ways are filled with thorns;
It is eternal winter there.

For where’er the sun does shine,
And where’er the rain does fall—
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appal. 

William Blake (1757-1827)	P. 1793

 
FOOTNOTES
1 in the protestant church, the fortieth day following the Ressurection, the day that Christ ascended into heaven
 

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