Fiery the Angels rose, and as they rose deep thunder roll'd Around their shores: indignant burning with the fires of Orc. - William Blake

I have labour'd hard indeed, & have been borne on angel's wings. Till we meet I beg of God our Saviour to be with you & me, & yours & mine. Pray give my & my wife's love to Mrs Butts & Family, & believe me to remain.

Exuberance is Beauty.

WHEN the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.

Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of night arise;
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies.

No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,
And the hills are all cover’d with sheep.

Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed.’
The little ones leaped and shouted and laugh’d
And all the hills echoed.