Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean br The children walking two & two in red & blue & green br Grey headed beadles walked before with wands as white as snow br Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow br br O what a multitude they seemed these flowers of London town br Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own br The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs br Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands br br Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song br Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among br Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor br Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your doorbr br William Blakebr br