# The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887)/Songs of Innocence

SONGS OF INNOCENCE
AND OF
EXPERIENCE:
SHOWING THE TWO CONTRARY STATES
OF THE HUMAN SOUL.
SONGS OF INNOCENCE.
[1789.]
INTRODUCTION.
* IPING 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 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.
THE SHEPHERD.
HOW sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot;
From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lambs' innocent call, And he hears the ewes' tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their shepherd is nigh.
THE ECHOING GREEN.
* THE sun does arise
* And make happy the skies;
* The merry bells ring
* To welcome the spring;
* The skylark and thrush,
* The birds of the bush,
* Sing louder around
* To the bells' cheerful sound,
* While our sports shall be seen
* On the echoing green.
* ​Old John with white hair
* Does laugh away care,
* Sitting under the oak
* Among the old folk.
* They laugh at our play,
* And soon they all say:
* "Such, such were the joys
* When we, all girls and boys,
* In our youth-time were seen
* On the echoing 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 mothers
* Many sisters and brothers,
* Like birds in their nest,
* Are ready for rest;
* And sport no more seen
* On the darkening green.
THE LAMB.
* LITTLE lamb, who made thee?
* Dost thou know who made thee,
* Gave thee life and bid thee feed
* By the stream and o'er the mead; ​Gave thee clothing of delight,
* Softest clothing, woolly, 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 and he is mild,
* He became a little child.
* I a child and thou a lamb,
* We are called by his name.
* Little lamb, God bless thee,
* Little lamb, God bless thee.
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY.
* MY mother bore me in the southern wild,
* And I am black, but oh! my soul is white;
* White as an angel is the English child,
* But I am black, as if bereaved 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 beast, and men receive
* Comfort in morning, joy in the noon-day.
* "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 sun-burnt face
* Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
* "For when our soils have learnt the heat to bear,
* The clouds will vanish, we shall hear his voice,
* Saying, 'Come out from the grove, my love and 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 bear
* 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."
THE BLOSSOM.
* MERRY, merry sparrow,
* Under leaves so green,
* A happy blossom ​Sees you, swift as arrow,
* Seek your cradle narrow
* Near my bosom.
* Pretty, pretty robin,
* Under leaves so green,
* A happy blossom
* Hears you sobbing, sobbing,
* Pretty, pretty robin,
* Near my bosom.
THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER.
* WHEN 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 and in soot I sleep.
* There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
* That curl'd like lamb's back, was shaved: 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; and that very night,
* As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight;
* That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and 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 and 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 and 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 and never want joy.
* And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,
* And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
* Though the morning was cold Tom was happy and warm:
* So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.
THE LITTLE BOY LOST.
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 and the child did weep, And away the vapour flew.
THE LITTLE BOY FOUND.
THE little boy lost in the lonely fen, Led by the wandering light, Began to cry; but God, ever nigh, Appear'd like his father in white;
He kiss'd the child, and by the hand led, And to his mother brought, Who, in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale, Her little boy weeping sought.
A CRADLE SONG.
* SWEET dreams, form a shade
* O'er my lovely infant's 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, mother's smiles,
* All the livelong night beguiles.
* ​Sweet moans, dove-like sighs,
* Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
* Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
* All the dove-like moans beguiles.
* Sleep, sleep, happy child,
* All creation slept and smiled;
* 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 and earth to peace beguiles.
THE DIVINE IMAGE.
* 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, and pity dwell,
* There God is dwelling too.
HOLY THURSDAY.
* 'TWAS on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
* The children walking two and two, in red and blue and 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 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.
NIGHT.
* 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 delight
* Sits and smiles on the night.
* ​Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
* Where flocks have took delight;
* Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
* 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 weeping
* That should have been sleeping,
* They pour sleep on their head,
* And sit down by their bed.
* When wolves and tigers 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
* Receive each mild spirit,
* New worlds to inherit.
* 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
* Is 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, wash'd in life's river,
* My bright mane for ever
* Shall shine like the gold
* As I guard o'er the fold."
SPRING.
* SOUND the flute!
* Now it's mute.
* Birds delight
* Day and night;
* Nightingale
* 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 lick
* My white neck;
* Let me pull
* Your soft wool;
* Let me kiss
* Your soft face:
* Merrily, merrily, we welcome in the year.
NURSE'S SONG.
* 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 away
* Till the morning appears in the skies.
* ​No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
* 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 and play till the light fades away,
* And then go home to bed.
* The little ones leap'd and shouted and laugh'd
* And all the hills echoed.
INFANT JOY.
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!
A DREAM.
ONCE a dream did weave a shade O'er my angel-guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way 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 dropp'd a tear; But I saw a glow-worm near: Who replied, "What wailing wight 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."
LAUGHING SONG.
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 Emily With their sweet round mouths sing Ha, ha, he!
When the painted birds laugh in the shade, When our table with cherries and nuts is spread, Come live and be happy and join with me To sing the sweet chorus of Ha, ha, he!
THE SCHOOL-BOY.
* 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 child
* Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'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 all
* Hear the wren with sorrrows small,
* Hear the small bird's grief and 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 and 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 joy
* That our grief he may destroy:
* Till our grief is fled and gone
* He doth sit by us and moan.