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-contrivd 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.