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 And Babylon's bells are continually tolling, As though all the craft of her merchants was failing, And Jesus was coming to reign on the earth. There is a sweet sound in the gospel of heaven, And people are joyful when they understand The saints on their way home to glory, are even Determin'd by goodness, to reach the blest land. Old formal professors are crying "delusion," And high-minded hypocrites say "'tis confusion,' While grace is poured out in a blessed effusion, And saints are rejoicing to see priest-craft fall. A blessing, a blessing, the Savior is coming, As prophets and pilgrims of old have declar'd; And Israel, the favor'd of God, is beginning To come to the feast for the righteous prepar'd. In the desert are fountains continually springing, The heavenly music of Zion is ringing; The saints all their tithes and their off'rings are bringing; They thus prove the Lord and his blessing receive.