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 promontory， near mournful

    Ever-weeping Paddington？ Is that Calvary and Golgotha

    Becoming a building of Pity and Compassion？ Lo！

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

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

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

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

    And the screws and iron braces are well-wrought Blandishments

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

    Always comforting the remembrance； the floors Humility，

    The ceilings Devotion， the hearths Thanksgiving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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