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lyrics

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

credits

from organ verses, released April 1, 2021

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all rights reserved

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about

Marco Lucchi Modena, Italy

a mellow artist aging 67. He loves and releases eclectic music that goes from post-classical to drone. His fav device is the mellotron.

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