To the Christians
I GIVE you the end of a golden string;
Only wind it into a ball,
It will lead you in at Heavens gate,
Built in Jerusalems 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 Zions ways;
Then was a time of joy and love.
And now the time returns again:
Our souls exult, and Londons towers
Receive the Lamb of God to dwell
In Englands green and pleasant bowers.
