By Babel’s Streams We Sat and Wept

By Babel’s streams we sat and wept

For me­mo­ry still to Zi­on clung;

The winds alone our harp-strings swept

That on the droop­ing wil­lows hung.

There our rude cap­tors

flushed with pride

A song re­quired to mock our wrongs;

Our spoil­ers called for mirth and cried

Come

sing us one of Zi­on’s songs.

Not songs but sighs to us be­long

When Zi­on’s walls in ru­in lie;

How shall we sing Je­ho­vah’s song

While in an ali­en land we die?

O Zi­on fair

God’s ho­ly hill

Wherein our God de­lights to dwell

Let my right hand for­get her skill

If I for­get to love thee well.

If I do not re­mem­ber thee

Then let my tongue from ut­ter­ance cease

If any earth­ly joy to me

Be dear as Zi­on’s joy and peace.

Remember

Lord

the dread­ful day

Of Zion’s cru­el ov­er­throw;

How hap­py he who shall re­pay

The bit­ter hat­red of her foe.