(Music by Greg Brown / poem of William Blake)

Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;
But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm
Besides, I can tell where I am used well;
Such usage in heaven will never do well

But, if at the Church they would give us some ale
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale
We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray

Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church
Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch

And God, like a father, rejoicing to see
His children as pleasant and happy as He
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel