Page:Life of William Blake, Pictor ignotus (Volume 2).djvu/114

Rh {| align="center" Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night. Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine; Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine. It is right it should be so; Man was made for joy and woe; And when this we rightly know, Safely through the world we go.

We are led to believe a lie When we see with not through the eye Which was born in a night to perish in a night When the soul slept in beams of light. God appears and God is light To those poor souls who dwell in night; But doth a human form display To those who dwell in realms of day.
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