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 Upon the Rock of Ages They raise thy holy tower: Thine is the victor's laurel, And thine the golden dower: Thou feel'st in mystic rapture, O Bride, that knowest no guile, The Prince's sweetest kisses, The Prince's loveliest smile: Unfading lilies, bracelets Of living pearl, thine own; The Lamb is ever near thee, The Bridegroom thine alone; The Crown is He to guerdon, The Buckler to protect, And He Himself the Mansion, And He the Architect. The only art thou needest, Thanksgiving for thy lot: The only joy thou seekest, The Life where Death is not. And all thine endless leisure In sweetest accents sings, The ill that was thy merit,— The wealth that is thy King's!

ERUSALEM the Golden, With milk and honey blest, Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice oppressed: