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I heard an Angel singing When the day was springing, Mercy, Pity, Peace Is the world's release.
William Blake
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William Blake
Age: 69 †
Born: 1757
Born: November 28
Died: 1827
Died: August 12
Collector
Engraver
Graphic Artist
Illustrator
Lithographer
Painter
Philosopher
Poet
Printer
Theologian
London
England
W. Blake
Uil'iam Bleik
Blake
World
Springing
Release
Pity
Mercy
Angel
Singing
Heard
Peace
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God is the poetic genius in each of us.
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Time is the Mercy of Eternity
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When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep. So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
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O white-robed Angel, guide my timorous hand to write as on a lofty rock with iron pen the words of truth, that all who pass may read.
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O Earth, O Earth, return! Arise from out the dewy grass Night is worn And the morn Rises from the slumbrous mass.
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He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.
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I have no name: I am but two days old. What shall I call thee? I happy am, Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee!
William Blake
Then the Parson might preach, & drink, & sing, And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church, Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.
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Man was made for joy and woe, and when this we rightly know through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, a clothing for the soul to bind.
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Why cannot the ear be closed to its own destruction? Or the glistening eye to the poison of a smile?
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Do what you will this life's a fiction, And is made up of contradiction.
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The man who never alters his opinions is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.
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One thought fills immensity.
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All the destruction in Christian Europe has arisen from deism, which is natural religion.
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Wisdom is sold in a desolate marketplace where none can come to buy.
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Want of money and the distress of a thief can never be alleged as the cause of his thieving, for many honest people endure greater hardships with fortitude. We must therefore seek the cause elsewhere than in want of money, for that is the miser's passion, not the thief s.
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The Goddess Fortune is the devil's servant, ready to kiss any one's ass.
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The mocker of Art is the mocker of Jesus.
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Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish.
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To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wildflower.
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