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.