'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their
innocent faces clean,
The children walking two & two, in red & blue &
green,
Grey-headed beadles walk'd
before, with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like
O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of
Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys & girls
raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of
song,
Or like harmonious thunderings
the seats of heaven among.
Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor;
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.