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Lyric Poem · Peace

Holy Thursday

by William Blake

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 son does never shine,

And their fields are bleak and bare,

And their ways are filled with thorns:

It is eternal winter there.

For where'er the sun does shine,

And where'er the rain does fall,

Babes should never hunger there,

Nor poverty the mind appall.

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Quick facts

Poem
Holy Thursday
Poet
William Blake
Length
16 lines
Form
Lyric Poem
Themes
Peace, Winter, Nature

Craft notes

How this poem works

Measured from the text on this page, not copied from a summary. Counts are approximate: syllables and rhymes come from the CMU Pronouncing Dictionary, which models General American English, so dialect, older pronunciation, and performance can all change what you hear.

Shape
16 lines · 4 quatrains
Line length
Lines run 7-8 syllables (median 7). No single length dominates, which is normal once elision and contraction are in play.

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Text, source & rights

A traceable edition

Full-text display is based on the committed source record and a United States term-expiry review.

Author record
William Blake1757–1827
Source record
PoetryDBHoly Thursday by william-blake, PoetryDB transcription
Display decision
Full text · United States · reviewed 2026-07-18
Publication record
Not recorded in the imported source
Text fingerprint
SHA-256 277528168e9c7483
Editorial handling
Whitespace and stanza breaks normalized for web display; no material wording change recorded.
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