‘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
And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England’s mountains gre… And was the holy Lamb of God On England’s pleasant pastures se… And did the Countenance Divine
I wander thro’ each charter’d stre… Near where the charter’d Thames d… And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man,
In futurity I prophesy That the earth from sleep (Grave the sentence deep) Shall arise, and seek
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,
Awake, awake, my little boy! Thou wast thy mother’s only joy; Why dost thou weep in thy gentle s… Awake! thy father does thee keep. `O, what land is the Land of Drea…
To see a World in a Grain of San… And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your… And Eternity in an hour. A Robin Redbreast in a Cage
Merry, merry sparrow! Under leaves so green A happy blossom Sees you, swift as arrow, Seek your cradle narrow,
When my mother died I was very yo… And my father sold me while yet my… Could scarcely cry “ ‘weep! ’weep!… So your chimneys I sweep & in soo… There’s little Tom Dacre, who cri…
AS I walk’d forth one May mornin… To see the fields so pleasant and… O! there did I spy a young maiden… Among the violets that smell so sw… smell so sweet,
Three Virgins at the break of day… `Whither, young man, whither away Alas for woe! alas for woe!' They cry, and tears for ever flow. The one was cloth’d in flames of f…
The sun does arise, And make happy the skies. The merry bells ring To welcome the spring. The skylark and thrush,
[PLATE 3] The Guardian Prince of Albion bu… Sullen fires across the Atlantic… Piercing the souls of warlike men,… Washington, Franklin, Paine & Wa…
“Love seeketh not itself to please… Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's des… So sung a little Clod of Clay
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, wildered and forlorn,