Songs Of Experience

Holy Thursday

• Is this a holy thing to see
• In a rich and fruitful land,
• Babes reduc’d to misery,
• Fed with cold and usurous hand?
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• Is that trembling cry a song?
• Can it be 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 & bare,
• And their ways are fill’d with thorns:
• It is eternal winter there.
•  
• For where-e’er the sun does shine,
• And were-e’er the rain does fall,
• Babe can never hunger there,
• Nor poverty the mind appall.