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Lettered inside image: "Albion thy fear has made me tremble; thy terrors have surrounded me: | Thy Sons have nail'd me on the Gates, piercing my hands & feet: | Till Scofield's Nimrod the mighty Huntsman [before] Jehovah came, | With Cush his Son & took me down. He in a golden Ark, | Bears me before his Armies tho' my shadow hovers here. | The flesh of multitudes fed & nouris'd me in my childhood, | My morn & evening food were prepar'd in Battles of Men. | Great is the cry of the Hounds of Nimrod along the Valley | Of Vision, they scent the odor of War in the Valley of Vision. | All Love is lost! terror succeeds & Hatred instead of Love, | And stern demands of Right & Duty instead of Liberty. | Once thou wast to me the loveliest Son of heaven: but now | Where shall I hide from thy dread countenance & searching eyes? | I have looked into the secret Soul of him I loved | And in the dark recesses found Sin & can never return. | Albion again utter'd his voice beneath the silent Moon. | I brought Love into light of day to pride in chaste beauty, | I brought Love into light & fancied Innocence is no more. | Then spake Jerusalem. O Albion! my Father Albion! | Why wilt them number every little fibre of my Soul, | Spreading them out before the Sun like stalks of flax to dry? | The Infant Joy is beautiful, but its anatomy | Horrible, ghast & deadly: nought shalt thou find in it | But dark despair & everlasting brooding melancholy! | Then Albion turn'd his face toward Jerusalem & spake. | Hide thou, Jerusalem, in empalpable voidness, not to be | Touch'd by the hand nor seen with the eye: O Jerusalem, | Would thou wert not & that thy place might never be found. | But come, O Vala.,, with knife & cup: drain my blood | To the last drop: then hide me in thy Scarlet Tabernacle. | For I see Luvah whom I slew, I behold him in my Spectre, | As I behold Jerusalem in thee, O Vala dark and cold. | Jerusalem then stretch'd her hand toward the Moon & spoke. | Why should Punishment Weave the Veil with Iron Wheels of War, | When Forgiveness might it Weave with Wings of Cherubim? | Loud groan'd Albion from mountain to mountain & replied..."