William Blake

SONGS OF EXPERIENCE
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A Little Boy Lost

 Nought loves another as itself
 Nor venerates another so.
 Nor is it possible to Thought
 A greater than itself to know:
 
 And Father, how can I love you,
 Or any of my brothers more?
 I love you like the little bird
 That picks up crumbs around the door.
 
 The Priest sat by and heard the child.
 In trembling zeal he siez'd his hair:
 He led him by his little coat:
 And all admir'd the Priestly care.
 
 And standing on the altar high,
 Lo what a fiend is here! said he:
 One who sets reason up forjudge
 Of our most holy Mystery.
 
 The weeping child could not be heard.
 The weeping parents wept in vain:
 They strip'd him to his little shirt.
 And bound him in an iron chain.
 
 And burn'd him in a holy place,
 Where many had been burn'd before:
 The weeping parents wept in vain.
 Are such things done on Albions shore.