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To see a World in a grain of sand，
And a Heaven in a wild flower， Hold Infinity1 in the palm of your hand， Puts all Heaven in a rage. A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons Shudders4 Hell thro' all its regions. A dog starv'd at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A horse misus'd upon the road Calls to Heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear. A skylark wounded in the wing， A cherubim does cease to sing. The game- cock clipt and arm'd for fight Does the rising sun affright. Every wolf's and lion's howl Raises from Hell a Human soul. The wild deer， wandering here and there， Keeps the Human soul from care. The lamb misus'd breeds public strife6， And yet forgives the butcher's knife. The bat that flits at close of eve Has left the brain that won't believe. The owl5 that calls upon the night Speaks the unbeliever's fright. He who shall hurt the little wren7 Shall never be belov'd by men. He who the ox to wrath8 has mov'd Shall never be by woman lov'd. The wanton boy that kills the fly Shall feel the spider's enmity. He who torments9 the chafer's sprite Weaves a bower10 in endless night. The caterpillar11 on the leaf Repeats to thee thy mother's grief. Kill not the moth12 nor butterfly， For the Last Judgement draweth nigh. He who shall train the horse to war Shall never pass the polar bar. The beggar's dog and widow's cat， Feed them， and thou wilt13 grow fat. The gnat14 that sings his summer's song Poison gets from Slander's tongue. The poison of the snake and newt Is the sweat of Envy's foot. The poison of the honey-bee The prince's robes and beggar's rags Are toadstools on the miser's bags. A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent. It is right it should be so； Man was made for joy and woe16； And when this we rightly know， Thro' the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine， A clothing for the soul divine； Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine17. The babe is more than swaddling-bands； Throughout all these human lands Tools were made， and born were hands， Every farmer understands. Every tear from every eye Becomes a babe in Eternity； This is caught by Females bright， And return'd to its own delight. The bleat18， the bark， bellow19， and roar Are waves that beat on Heaven's shore. The babe that weeps the rod beneath Writes revenge in realms of death. The beggar's rags， fluttering in air， Does to rags the heavens tear. The soldier， arm'd with sword and gun， Palsied strikes the summer's sun. The poor man's farthing is worth more Than all the gold on Afric's shore. One mite20 wrung21 from the labourer's hands Shall buy and sell the miser's lands Or， if protected from on high， Does that whole nation sell and buy. He who mocks the infant's faith Shall be mock'd in Age and Death. He who shall teach the child to doubt The rotting grave shall ne'er get out. He who respects the infant's faith Triumphs over Hell and Death. The child's toys and the old man's reasons Are the fruits of the two seasons. The questioner， who sits so sly， Shall never know how to reply. He who replies to words of Doubt Doth put the light of knowledge out. The strongest poison ever known Came from Caesar's laurel crown. Nought22 can deform23 the human race Like to the armour's iron brace24. When gold and gems25 adorn26 the plough To peaceful arts shall Envy bow. A riddle27， or the cricket's cry， Is to Doubt a fit reply. The emmet's inch and eagle's mile Make lame28 Philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe， do what you please. If the Sun and Moon should doubt， They'd immediately go out. To be in a passion you good may do， But no good if a passion is in you. The whore and gambler， by the state Licensed29， build that nation's fate. The harlot's cry from street to street Shall weave Old England's winding-sheet. The winner's shout， the loser's curse， Dance before dead England's hearse. Every night and every morn Every morn and every night Some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to sweet delight， Some are born to endless night. We are led to believe a lie When we see not thro' the eye， Which was born in a night， to perish in a night， When the Soul slept in beams of light. God appears， and God is Light， To those poor souls who dwell in Night； But does a Human Form display To those who dwell in realms of Day. 点击  收听单词发音
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