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lyrics

Is this a holy thing to see,
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reducd to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a 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 where-e'er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.

credits

from Strange Mystery Flower sing William Blake, released October 5, 2019

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Strange Mystery Flower

A site to introduce the inspiring world of William Blake and Lord Byron via the music of this new musical project.

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