Closer and closer my steps
Come to the dread abysm;
Closer Death to my lips
Presses the awful chrism.
O, if my mortal feet
Have almost gained the brink;
If it be I am nearer home
Even today than I think;
Father, perfect my trust;
Let my spirit feel in death
That her feet are firmly set
On the rock of a living faith!
THE TIGER.
BY WILLIAM BLAKE.
William Blake was born at London in 1757; he died there in 1827. He is well known among children for his “Songs of Innocence.” Other of his works are: “Book of Thel,” the “Marriage of Heaven and Earth,” “Gates of Paradise,” “Songs of Experience.” He was also a painter and an engraver, and among his best work in that line are his illustrations to Blair’s “Grave,” and to the book of Job.
Tiger, tiger, 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 thine 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?