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 And though my body may not, My spirit seeks thee fain, Till flesh and earth return me To earth and flesh again. O none can tell thy bulwarks, How gloriously they rise: O none can tell thy capitals Of beautiful device: Thy loveliness oppresses All human thought and heart: And none, O peace, O Syon, Can sing thee as thou art. New mansion of new people, Whom own love and light Promote, increase, make holy, Identify, unite. Thou City of the Angels! Thou City of the ! Whose everlasting music Is the glorious decachord! And there the band of Prophets United praise ascribes, And there the twelvefold chorus Of Israel's ransomed tribes: The lily-beds of virgins, The roses' martyr-glow, The cohort of the Fathers Who kept the faith below.