Holy Thursday

'T was on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,

Came children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green:

Gray-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,

Till into the high dome of Paul's, they like Thames' waters flow.

Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town,

Seated in companies they were, 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 men, wise guardians of the poor.

Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

William Blake