“Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wild they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.”

“Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wild they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.”

— William Blake