This morning after I got the boys off to school, my mind wandered around itself for a bit, and I remembered something from my college days. As a Lit major (I know, is there anything more worthless than a Degree in Literature???) we studied all of the great ‘masters’. I was introduced to William Blake through his Tiger poem. I loved it immediately. The imagery, the strength–just the amazing use of verbage for this magnificent animal.

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

In the last line of the second to last stanza he asks a question about a lamb. I thought this was just a cool juxtaposition, I didn’t know at the time that he was the writer of this…

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee.
He is called 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 called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Now let it be known, I LOVE William Blake. I love 90% of everything he’s done. I do like the lamb poem. I like it’s message, again I like the imagery. I had read this poem first, and it was lovely. But I didn’t like it enough to note the writers name, whereas when I read the tiger I notated the name in it’s own little drawer in my brain. I didn’t put the two together in the Lit class I was in at that particular time. It wasn’t until one a few months later, when we read The Lamb again–and I saw the name. Surely, this cutesy little sing songy poem wasn’t written by the same William Blake… there had to be more than one! Until I remembered that line in the second to last stanza of the Tiger poem—and I had to accept that it was the same person.

As I read the two today, they are still so different in the dramatic scheme of things, but both are beautiful poems. The lamb means more to me, however, due to its testimony. Mr. Blake was a Christian. He lived in the late 1700’s and early 1800’s, many of the churches on this earth (including mine) weren’t even around when this man was alive. But he’s letting you know he’s a Christian and that he doesn’t believe in Evolution.

If you happened to find a writer today, who wrote this type of poem, they would be classified immediately as a Christian writer. Doomed to some bottom of the shelf spot in the self help/religion section. No one would dare recognize them as one of the ‘Great Masters’. So I’m glad he was already classified as such before the hypocrisy of today could tarnish his work!