Classic Poem

The fields from Islington to Marybone,
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 & Kentish Town repose
Among her golden pillars high,
Among her golden arches which
Shine upon the starry sky.
The Jews-Harp House & the Green Man,
The ponds where boys to bathe delight,
The fields of cows by Willan'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 & his Bride,
Forgiving trespasses and sins,
Lest Babylon with cruel Og,
With moral & 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 & Old Bow,
Through Maldon & across the sea,
In war & howling, death & 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 oh, translucent all within!)
The Divine Vision still was seen,
Still was the human form divine
Weeping in weak & mortal clay;
O Jesus, still the form was thine!
And thine the human face & thine
The human hands & feet & 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 & 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 & 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 & family;
And he who makes his law a curse,
By his own law shall surely die.
In my exchanges every land
Shall walk, & mine in every land
Mutual shall build Jerusalem:
Both in heart in heart & hand in hand.