Maundy Thursday

Where mercy, love, and pity dwell, their God is dwelling too.

End of chapter 12 Chapter 13 Holy Thursday Twas on a holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, Came children walking two and two in red and blue and green.

gray-headed beetles walked before with wands as white as snow till into the high dome of paul's they like the thames waters flow oh what a multitude they seemed 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 man wise guardians of the poor then cherish pity lest you drive an angel from your door

You know what? It sucks to be bored.

Selfish father of men, cruel, jealous, selfish fear.

Can delight, chained in night, the virgins of youth and morning bearer? Does spring hide its joy when buds and blossoms grow? Does the sower sow by night, or the plowman in darkness plow? Break this heavy chain that does freeze my bones around, Selfish, vain, eternal bane, that free love with bondage bound.

End of chapter 2 Chapter 3 The Claude and the Pebble Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care but for another gives it ease and builds a heaven in hell's despair so sang a little clod of clay trodden with the cattle's feet but a pebble of the brook warbled out these meter's meat love seeketh only self to please to bind another to its delight joys in another's loss of ease and builds a hell in heaven's despite end of chapter three chapter four holy thursday 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 and bare and their ways are filled with thorns it is eternal winter there for where'er the sun does shine and where'er the rain does fall Babes should never hunger there, nor poverty the mind appall.

End of chapter 4 Chapter 5 The Little Girl Lost In futurity I prophetic see, that the earth from sleep, grave the sentence deep, shall arise and seek, for her maker meek, and the desert wild, become a garden mild.