William Blake

Thou art a man God is no more Thy own humanity Learn to adore

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.

O thou who passest through our valleys in Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer, Oft pitchest here thy golden tent, and oft Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are born. Every Morn and every Night Some are born to Sweet Delight, Some are born to Endless Night.

As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.

He who would do good to another must do it in minute particulars.

Let every Christian, as much as in him lies, engage himself openly and publicly, before all the World, in some mental pursuit for the Building up of Jerusalem.

The Bat that flits at close of Eve_x000D_ _x000D_ Has left the Brain that won't believe._x000D_ _x000D_ The Owl that calls upon the Night_x000D_ _x000D_ Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.

The busy bee has no time for sorrow.

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand.

The lamb misused breeds public strife And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

What is grand is necessarily obscure to weak men. That which can be made explicit to the idiot is not worth my care.

For Mercy has a human heart Pity, a human face: And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress.

The cut worm forgives the plow.

Prudence is a rich, ugly, old maid courted by incapacity.

Pride is a personal commitment. It is an attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity.

Naught can deform the human race Like to the armor's iron brace.

Men are admitted into heaven not because they have curbed and governed their passions or have no passions, but because they have cultivated their understandings. The treasures of heaven are not negations of passion, but realities of intellect, from which all the passions emanate uncurbed in their eternal glory.

How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!

England! awake! awake! awake! Jerusalem thy sister calls! Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death And close her from thy ancient walls?

Reason, or the ratio of all we have already known, is not the same that it shall be when we know more.