"Pretty joy!

Sweet joy, but two days old.

Sweet joy I call thee
Thou dost smile,

I sing the while;

e;

Sweet joy befall thee!"

William Blake.

Holy Thursday

'TWAS

WAS on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, Came children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green :

Grey-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 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 men, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

William Blake.

Laughing Song

WHEN

WHEN the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;

When the air does laugh with our merry wit,

And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;

When the meadows laugh with lively green,
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene;
When Mary, and Susan, and Emily

With their sweet round mouths sing, "Ha, ha, he !"

When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread :
Come live, and be merry, and join with me,
To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, ha, he!"

William Blake.

BIRDS

Answer to a Child's Question

Do you know what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,

The Linnet and Thrush say, "I love and I love!"

In the winter they're silent-the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving-all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings, and for ever sings he-
"I love my Love and my Love loves me!"

S. T. Coleridge.

A Rule for Birds' Nesters

THE robin and the red-breast,

If

The robin and the wren;

ye take out o' their nest, Ye'll never thrive agen!

The robin and the red-breast,

The martin and the swallow; If ye touch one o' their eggs, Bad luck will surely follow!

Old Rhyme.