Poems of William Blake by William Blake
page 4 of 49 (08%)
page 4 of 49 (08%)
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Little Lamb, who made thee Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee; Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb He is meek, and He is mild, He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee! THE LITTLE BLACK BOY My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but oh my soul is white! White as an angel is the English child, But I am black, as if bereaved of light. |
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