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William Blake - Holy Thursday (Experience)
Work rating: Medium

	Is this a holy thing to see
	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 & bare.
	And their ways are fill`d with thorns
	It is eternal winter there.

	For where-e`er the sun does shine.
	And where-e`er the rain does fall:
	Babe can never hunger there,
	Nor poverty the mind appall.
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