Little Lamb, I'll tell thee; Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: He is callèd by thy name, For He calls himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are callèd by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee! THE LITTLE BLACK BOY My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white; White as an angel is the English child, But I am black, as if bereaved of light. My mother taught me underneath a tree, And, sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissèd me, And, pointing to the east, began to say: 'Look on the rising sun,--there God does live, And gives His light, and gives His heat away; And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 'And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love; And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove. 'For when our souls have learned the heat to bear, The cloud will vanish; we shall hear His voice, Saying: "Come out from the grove, my love and care. And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice."' Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me; And thus I say to little English boy. When I from black and he from white cloud free, And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear To lean in joy upon our Father's knee; And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him, and he will then love me. A CRADLE SONG Sweet dreams, form a shade O'er my lovely infant's head; Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy, silent, moony beams. Sweet sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown. Sweet sleep, Angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child. Sweet smiles, in the night Hover over my delight; Sweet smiles, mother's smiles, All the livelong night beguiles. Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, Chase not slumber from thy eyes. Sweet moans, sweeter smiles, All the dovelike moans beguiles. Sleep, sleep, happy child, All creation slept and smiled; Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, While o'er thee thy mother weep. Sweet babe, in thy face Holy image I can trace. Sweet babe, once like thee, Thy Maker lay and wept for me, Wept for me, for thee, for all, When He was an infant small. Thou His image ever see, Heavenly face that smiles on thee, Smiles on thee, on me, on all; Who became an infant small. Infant smiles are His own smiles; Heaven and earth to peace beguiles. HOLY THURSDAY 'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green, Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow.