Among the holy Mountains high <br />Is his foundation fast, <br />There Seated in his Sanctuary, <br />His Temple there is plac't. <br />Sions fair Gates the Lord loves more <br />Then all the dwellings faire <br />Of Jacobs Land, though there be store, <br />And all within his care. <br />City of God, most glorious things <br />Of thee abroad are spoke; <br />I mention Egypt, where proud Kings <br />Did our forefathers yoke, <br />I mention Babel to my friends, <br />Philistia full of scorn, <br />And Tyre with Ethiops utmost ends, <br />Lo this man there was born: <br />But twise that praise shall in our ear <br />Be said of Sion last <br />This and this man was born in her, <br />High God shall fix her fast. <br />The Lord shall write it in a Scrowle <br />That ne're shall be out-worn <br />When he the Nations doth enrowle <br />That this man there was born. <br />Both they who sing, and they who dance <br />With sacred Songs are there, <br />In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance <br />And all my fountains clear.<br /><br />John Milton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/psalm-87/
