My bones are pierced in me in the
right season & my sinews
take no rest

My skin is black upon me
& my bones are burned
with heat

The triumphing of the wicked
is short, the joy of the hypocrite is
but for a moment

Satan himself is transformed into an Angel of Light & his Ministers into Ministers of Righteousness

With Dreams upon my bed thou scarest me & affrightest me
with Visions

Why do you persecute me as God & are not satisfied with my flesh. Oh that my words were printed in a Book that they were graven with an iron pen & lead in the rock for ever

For I know that my Redeemer liveth & that he shall stand in the latter days upon
the Earth & after my skin destroy thou This body yet in my flesh shall I see God
whom I shall see for myself and mine eyes shall behold & not Another that consumed be

Who opposeth & exalteth himself above all that is called God or is Worshipped
W Blake invent & sculpt

my wrought Image

London. Published as the Act directs March 8. 1825 by Will-Blake N°3 Fountain Court-Strand