<h3><SPAN name="13">HOLY THURSDAY</SPAN></h3>
’Twas on a holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,<br/>
The children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green:<br/>
Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,<br/>
Till into the high dome of Paul’s they like Thames waters flow.
<br/><br/>O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!<br/>
Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.<br/>
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,<br/>
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
<br/><br/>Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,<br/>
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:<br/>
Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor.<br/>
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
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