Auguries Of Innocence

To see a World in a Grain of Sand     And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,     Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand     And Eternity in an hour.     A Robin Red breast in a Cage     Puts all Heaven in a Rage.     A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons     Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.     A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate     Predicts the ruin of the State.     A Horse misus'd upon the Road     Calls to Heaven for Human blood.     Each outcry of the hunted Hare     A fibre from the Brain does tear.     A Skylark wounded in the wing,     A Cherubim does cease to sing.     The Game Cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight     Does the Rising Sun affright.     Every Wolf's & Lion's howl     Raises from Hell a Human Soul.     The wild deer, wand'ring here & there,     Keeps the Human Soul from Care.     The Lamb misus'd breeds public strife     And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.     The Bat that flits at close of Eve     Has left the Brain that won't believe.     The Owl that calls upon the Night     Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.     He who shall hurt the little Wren     Shall never be belov'd by Men.     He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd     Shall never be by Woman lov'd.     The wanton Boy that kills the Fly     Shall feel the Spider's enmity.     He who torments the Chafer's sprite     Weaves a Bower in endless Night.     The Catterpillar on the Leaf     Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.     Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly,     For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.     He who shall train the Horse to War     Shall never pass the Polar Bar.     The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat,     Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.     The Gnat that sings his Summer's song     Poison gets from Slander's tongue.     The poison of the Snake & Newt     Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.     The poison of the Honey Bee     Is the Artist's Jealousy.     The Prince's Robes & Beggars' Rags     Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags.     A truth that's told with bad intent     Beats all the Lies you can invent.     It is right it should be so;     Man was made for Joy & Woe;     And when this we rightly know     Thro' the World we safely go.     Joy & Woe are woven fine,     A Clothing for the Soul divine;     Under every grief & pine     Runs a joy with silken twine.     The Babe is more than swadling Bands;     Throughout all these Human Lands     Tools were made, & born were hands,     Every Farmer Understands.     Every Tear from Every Eye     Becomes a Babe in Eternity.     This is caught by Females bright     And return'd to its own delight.     The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar     Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore.     The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath     Writes Revenge in realms of death.     The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air,     Does to Rags the Heavens tear.     The Soldier arm'd with Sword & Gun,     Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun.     The poor Man's Farthing is worth more     Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore.     One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands     Shall buy & sell the Miser's lands:     Or, if protected from on high,     Does that whole Nation sell & buy.     He who mocks the Infant's Faith     Shall be mock'd in Age & Death.     He who shall teach the Child to Doubt     The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out.     He who respects the Infant's faith     Triumph's over Hell & Death.     The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons     Are the Fruits of the Two seasons.     The Questioner, who sits so sly,     Shall never know how to Reply.     He who replies to words of Doubt     Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.     The Strongest Poison ever known     Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.     Nought can deform the Human Race     Like the Armour's iron brace.     When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow     To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow.     A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry     Is to Doubt a fit Reply.     The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile     Make Lame Philosophy to smile.     He who Doubts from what he sees     Will ne'er believe, do what you Please.     If the Sun & Moon should doubt     They'd immediately Go out.     To be in a Passion you Good may do,     But no Good if a Passion is in you.     The Whore & Gambler, by the State     Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.     The Harlot's cry from Street to Street     Shall weave Old England's winding Sheet.     The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse,     Dance before dead England's Hearse.     Every Night & every Morn     Some to Misery are Born.     Every Morn & every Night     Some are Born to sweet Delight.     Some ar Born to sweet Delight,     Some are born to Endless Night.     We are led to Believe a Lie     When we see not Thro' the Eye     Which was Born in a Night to Perish in a Night     When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.     God Appears & God is Light     To those poor Souls who dwell in the Night,     But does a Human Form Display     To those who Dwell in Realms of day.