Night by William Blake

The sun descending in the West,

The evening star does shine;

The birds are silent in their nest,

And I must seek for mine.


The moon, like a flower

In heaven’s high bower,

With silent delight

Sits & smiles on the night.


Farewell, green fields & happy grove,

Where flocks have ta’en delight;

Where lambs have nibbled, silent move

The feet of angels bright:

Unseen, they pour blessing,

And joy without ceasing,

On each bud & blossom,

On each sleeping bosom.


They look in every thoughtless nest,

Where birds are covered warm;

They visit caves of every beast,

To keep them all from harm.

If they see any weeping

That should have been sleeping,

They pour sleep on their head,

And sit down by their bed.


When wolves & tigers howl for prey

They pitying stand & weep,

Seeking to drive their thirst away,

And keep them from the sheep.

But, if they rush dreadful,

The angels, most heedful,

Receive each mild spirit

New words to inherit.


And there the Lion’s ruddy eyes

Shall flow with tears of gold:

And pitying the tender cries,

And walking round the fold,

Saying: “Wrath by His meekness,

And by His health, sickness,

Are driven away

From our immortal day.


“And now beside thee, bleating lamb,

I can lie down & sleep.

Or think on Him who bore thy name,

Gaze after thee, & weep.

For, washed in life’s river,

My bright mane *for ever

Shall shine like the gold,

As I guard o’er the fold.”


*Forever. It’s my favorite word. Wrath by Your meekness sweet Jesus, & by Your health sickness is driven away.

Even so Lord, come.


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