A Little Boy Lost

by William Blake

　　‘Nought loves another as itself,

　　Nor venerates another so,

　　Nor is it possible to thought

　　A greater than itself to know.

　　‘And, father, how can I love you

　　Or any of my brothers more?

　　I love you like the little bird

　　That picks up crumbs around the door.’

　　The Priest sat by and heard the child;

　　In trembling zeal he seized his hair,

　　He led him by his little coat,

　　And all admired his priestly care.

　　And standing on the altar high,

　　‘Lo, what a fiend is here!’ said he:

　　‘One who sets reason up for judge

　　Of our most holy mystery.’

　　The weeping child could not be heard,

　　The weeping parents wept in vain:

　　They stripped him to his little shirt,

　　And bound him in an iron chain,

　　And burned him in a holy place

　　Where many had been burned before;

　　The weeping parents wept in vain.

　　Are such things done on Albion’s shore?