Dear mother, dear mother, the church is cold, <br /> But the ale-house is healthy and pleasant and warm; <br /> Besides I can tell where I am used well, <br /> Such usage in Heaven will never do well. <br /> <br /> But if at the church they would give us some ale, <br /> And a pleasant fire our souls to regale, <br /> We'd sing and we'd pray all the live-long day, <br /> Nor ever once wish from the church to stray. <br /> <br /> Then the parson might preach, and drink, and sing, <br /> And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring; <br /> And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church, <br /> Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch. <br /> <br /> And God, like a father rejoicing to see <br /> His children as pleasant and happy as he, <br /> Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel, <br /> But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.<br /><br />William Blake<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-little-vagabond/
