From Jerusalem: To the Jews

The fields from Islington to Marylebone,
To Primrose Hill and Saint John's Wood,
Were builded over with pillars of gold;
And there Jerusalem's pillars stood.

Her little ones ran on the fields,
The Lamb of God among them seen;
And fair Jerusalem, His Bride,
Among the little meadows green.

Pancras and Kentish Town repose
Among her golden pillars high,
Among her golden arches which
Shine upon the starry sky.

The Jews'-Harp House and the Green Man,
The ponds where boys to bathe delight,
The fields of cows by Welling's Farm,
Shine in Jerusalem's pleasant sight.

She walks upon our meadows green,
The Lamb of God walks by her side,
And every English child is seen,
Children of Jesus and His Bride.

Forgiving trespasses and sins,
Lest Babylon, with cruel Og,
With moral and self-righteous law,
Should crucify in Satan's synagogue.

What are those golden builders doing
Near mournful ever-weeping Paddington—
Standing above that mighty ruin
Where Satan the first victory won?

Where Albion slept beneath the fatal tree?
And the Druid's golden knife
Rioted in human gore,
In offerings of human life?

They groaned aloud on London Stone,
They groaned aloud on Tyburn's brook;
Albion gave his deadly groan,
And all the Atlantic mountains shook.

Albion's spectre from his loins
Tore forth in all the pomp of war,
Satan his name: in flames of fire,
He stretched his Druid pillars far.

Jerusalem fell from Lambeth's vale
Down through Poplar and Old Bow.
Through Malden, and across the sea,
In war and howling, death and woe.

The Rhine was red with human blood,
The Danube rolled a purple tide;
On the Euphrates Satan stood,
And over Asia stretched his pride.

He withered up sweet Zion's hill
From every nation of the earth;
He withered up Jerusalem's gates,
And in a dark land gave her birth.

He withered up the human form
By laws of sacrifice for sin,
Till it became a mortal worm,
But O, translucent all within!

The Divine Vision still was seen,
Still was the human form divine;
Weeping, in weak and mortal clay,
O Jesus! still the form was thine!

And thine the human face; and thine
The human hands, and feet, and breath
Entering through the gates of birth,
And passing through the gates of death.

And O thou Lamb of God! whom I
Slew in my dark self-righteous pride,
Art thou returned to Albion's land?
And is Jerusalem thy Bride?

Come to my arms, and never more
Depart, but dwell for ever here;
Create my spirit to thy Love,
Subdue my spectre to thy fear.

Spectre of Albion! warlike fiend!
In clouds of blood and ruin rolled,
I here reclaim thee as my own,
My selfhood; Satan armed in gold.

Is this thy soft family love?
Thy cruel patriarchal pride?
Planting thy family alone,
Destroying all the world beside?

A man's worst enemies are those
Of his own house and family:
And he who makes his law a curse,
By his own law shall surely die.

In my exchanges every land
Shall walk; and mine in every land,
Mutual, shall build Jerusalem,
Both heart in heart and hand in hand.