Epigraph

I give you the end of a golden string;
Only wind it into a ball,--
It will lead you in at Heaven's gate
Built in Jerusalem's wall.

England! Awake! Awake! Awake!
Jerusalem thy sister calls!
Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death,
And close her from thy ancient walls?

Thy hills and valleys felt her feet
Gently upon their bosoms move:
Thy gates beheld sweet Zion's ways;
Then was a time of joy and love.

And now the time returns again:
Our souls exult, and London's towers
Receive the Lamb of God to dwell
In England's green and pleasant bowers.
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