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Inscribed in orange ink, upper right: "38"

Lettered inside image: "His face and bosom with petrific hardness, and his hands | And feet, lest any should enter his bosom & embrace | His hidden heart: his Emanation wept & trembled within him: | Uttering not his jealousy, but hiding it as with | Iron and steel, dark and opake, with clouds & tempests brooding: | His strong limbs shudder'd upon his mountains high and dark. | Turning from Universal Love petrific as he went, | His cold against the warmth of Eden rag'd with loud | Thunders of deadly war (the fever of the human soul) | Fires and clouds of rolling smoke! but, mild, the Saviour follow'd him, | Displaying the Eternal Vision, the Divine Similitude, | In loves and tears of brothers, sisters, sons, fathers and friends, | Which if Man ceases to behold, he ceases to exist : | Saying, Albion! Our wars are wars of life, & wounds of love, | With intellectual spears, & long winged arrows of thought: | Mutual in one another's love and wrath all renewing | We live as One Man: for contracting our infinite senses | We behold multitude: or expanding, we behold as one. | As One Man all the Universal Family: and that One Man | We call Jesus the Christ: and he in us, and we in him, | Live in perfect harmony in Eden the land of life, | Giving, recieving, and forgiving each other's trespasses. | He is the Good shepherd, he is the Lord and master: | He is the Shepherd of Albion, he is all in all, | In Eden: in the garden of God: and in heavenly Jerusalem. | If we have offended, forgive us, take not vengeance against us. | Thus speaking, the Divine Family follow Albion: | I see them in the Vision of God upon my pleasant valleys. | I behold London ; a Human awful wonder of God ! | He says, Return, Albion, return! I give myself for thee: | My Streets are my Ideas of Imagination. | Awake Albion, awake! and let us awake up together. | My Houses are Thoughts; my Inhabitants, Affections, | The children of my thoughts, walking within my blood-vessels, | Shut from my nervous form which sleeps upon the verge of Beulah, | In dreams of darkness, while my vegetating blood, in veiny pipes, | Rolls dreadful thro' the Furnaces of Los, and the Mills of Satan. | For Albion's sake, and for Jerusalem thy Emanation | I give myself, and these my brethren give themselves for Albion. | So spoke London, immortal Guardian! I heard in Lambeth's shades: | In Felpham I heard and saw the Visions of Albion: | I write in South Molton Street, what I both see and hear, | In regions of Humanity, in London's opening streets. | I see thee, awful Parent Land, in light, behold I see! | Verulam! Canterbury! venerable parent of men, | Generous immortal Guardian golden clad! for Cities | Are Men, fathers of multitudes, and Rivers & Mountains | Are also Men; every thing is Human, mighty! sublime! | In every bosom a Universe expands, as wings | Let down at will around, ahd call'd the Universal Tent. | York, crown'd with loving kindness: Edinburgh, cloth'd | With fortitude as with a garment of immortal texture, | Woven in looms of Eden, in spiritual deaths of mighty men | Who give themselves, in Golgotha, Victims to Justice; where | There is in Albion a Gate of precious stones and gold, | Seen only by Emanations, by vegetations, viewless, | Bending across the road of Oxford Street; it from Hyde Park | To Tyburn's deathful shades, admits the wandering souls | Of multitudes who die from Earth : this Gate cannot be found | By..."