'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, <br /> Came children walking two and two, in read, and blue, and green: <br /> Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, <br /> Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow. <br /> <br /> Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town! <br /> Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own. <br /> The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, <br /> Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. <br /> <br /> Now like a mighty wild they raise to heaven the voice of song, <br /> Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: <br /> Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians of the poor. <br /> Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.<br /><br />William Blake<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/holy-thursday/
