Oh! hear a pensive prisoner's prayer, 
For liberty that sighs, 
And never let thine heart be shut 
Against the wretch's cries.

For here forlorn and sad I sit, 
Within the wiry grate; 
And tremble at th' approaching morn, 
Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd, 
And spurn'd a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force 
A free-born mouse detain.

Oh! do not stain with guiltless blood 
Thy hospitable hearth; 
Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd 
A prize so little worth.

The scattered gleanings of a feast 
My frugal meals supply; 
But if thine unrelenting heart 
That slender boon deny,

The cheerful light, the vital air, 
Are blessings widely given; 
Let nature's commoners enjoy 
The common gifts of heaven.

The well-taught philosophic mind 
To all compassion gives; 
Casts round the world an equal eye, 
And feels for all that lives.

If mind, as ancient sages taught, 
A never dying flame,
Still shifts thro' matter's varying forms,
In every form the same,

Beware, lest in the worm you crush 
A brother's soul you find; 
And tremble lest thy luckless hand 
Dislodge a kindred mind.

Or, if this transient gleam of day 
Be all of life we share, 
Let pity plead within thy breast 
That little all to spare.

So may thy hospitable board 
With health and peace be crown'd; 
And every charm of heartfelt ease 
Beneath thy roof be found.

So, when destruction lurks unseen, 
Which men, like mice, may share, 
May some kind angel clear thy path, 
And break the hidden snare.

Tyger Tyger, 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, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & 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?

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