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Young Writers Society


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While you ponder this, enjoy a poem:


Holy Thursday: Is this a holy thing to see (1794)
by William Blake

Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduc'd 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 and bare,
And their ways are fill'd with thorns:
It is eternal winter there.

For where-e'er the sun does shine,
And where-e'er the rain does fall,
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.


I say, in matters of the heart, treat yo' self.
— Donna, Parks & Rec