organ verses

by Marco Lucchi

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# 1 05:18
Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice! Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee! William Blake
# 2 02:07
Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? And what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears: Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? William Blake
# 3 03:33
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. William Blake
# 4 02:51
My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white; White as an angel is the English child: But I am black as if bereav’d of light. My mother taught me underneath a tree And sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And pointing to the east began to say. Look on the rising sun: there God does live And gives his light, and gives his heat away. And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning joy in the noon day. And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love, And these black bodies and this sun-burnt face Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove. For when our souls have learn’d the heat to bear The cloud will vanish we shall hear his voice. Saying: come out from the grove my love & care, And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice. Thus did my mother say and kissed me, And thus I say to little English boy; When I from black and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy: I’ll shade him from the heat till he can bear, To lean in joy upon our fathers knee. And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him and he will then love me. William Blake
organ n_Eta 05:16
# 4 04:10
Little Lamb 05:20
Morning Joy 03:00
Overseen 05:20
Reset vow 05:17
The reverse 05:37
Forever us 06:16
Organi Gram 03:39
drafts 04:45
Draft Punk 05:00
Saturno 05:36
Ouroboros 05:40


small organ meditations while reading William Blake


released April 1, 2021

music by Marco Lucchi

with contributions from

Liquid House
Moebius Void
Henrik Meierkord
{AN} Eel
Ostacoli Sonori
Mean Flow
James Hill
Rudy Ensueno
Jan Grünfeld


all rights reserved



Marco Lucchi Modena, Italy

a mellow artist aging 64. He loves and releases eclectic music that goes from post-classical to drone. His fav device is the mellotron.

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