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Is this a holy thing to see, In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine. And their fields are bleak & bare. And their ways are fill’d with thorns. It is eternal winter there.
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Songs of Experience, The Tyger
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Songs of Experience, The Human Abstract
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