What are those Golden Builders doing？ Where was the burying-place

    Of soft Ethinthus？ near Tyburn's fatal Tree？ Is that

    Mild Zion's hill's most ancient promontory¹， near mournful

    Ever-weeping Paddington？ Is that Calvary and Golgotha

    Becoming a building of Pity and Compassion²？ Lo！

    The stones are Pity， and the bricks well-wrought³ Affections

    Enamell'd with Love and Kindness； and the tiles engraven gold，

    Labour of merciful hands； the beams and rafters are Forgiveness，

    The mortar⁴ and cement of the work， tears of Honesty， the nails

    And the screws and iron braces⁵ are well-wrought Blandishments

    And well-contrivèd words， firm fixing， never forgotten，

    Always comforting the remembrance； the floors Humility⁶，

    The ceilings Devotion， the hearths⁷ Thanksgiving.

    Prepare the furniture， O Lambeth， in thy pitying looms⁸！

    The curtains， woven tears and sighs， wrought into lovely forms

    For Comfort； there the secret furniture of Jerusalem's chamber⁹

    Is wrought. Lambeth！ the Bride， the Lamb's Wife loveth thee；

    Thou art one with her， and knowest not of Self in thy supreme¹⁰ joy.

    Go on， Builders in hope！ tho' Jerusalem wanders far away

    Without the Gate of Los， among the dark Satanic wheels.

上一篇：The Lamb 下一篇：The Echoing Green