We will not cease from mental fight, nor let swords sleep in our hands.

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Blake’s “Jerusalem”  

And did those feet in ancient time.
Walk upon England’s mountains green: 
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England’s pleasant pastures seen!
 

 
And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills? 

And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills? 

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire! 

 

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England’s green & pleasant Land 

5 thoughts on “We will not cease from mental fight, nor let swords sleep in our hands.”

  2. I wandered through each chartered street,
    Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
    A mark in every face I meet,
    Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

    In every cry of every man,
    In every infant’s cry of fear,
    In every voice, in every ban,
    The mind-forged manacles I hear:

    How the chimney-sweeper’s cry
    Every blackening church appals,
    And the hapless soldier’s sigh
    Runs in blood down palace-walls.

    But most, through midnight streets I hear
    How the youthful harlot’s curse
    Blasts the new-born infant’s tear,
    And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.

    Blake: London.

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