Why, on the Bending Willows Hung

Why

on the bend­ing wil­lows hung

Israel! still sleeps thy tune­ful string?

Still mute re­mains thy si­lent tongue

And Zi­on’s song de­nies to sing?

Awake! thy sweet­est rap­tures raise

Let harp and voice unite their strains;

Thy pro­mised king His scep­ter sways

Jesus

thine own Mes­si­ah

reigns!

No taunt­ing foes the song re­quire

No strang­ers mock thy cap­tive chain;

But friends pro­voke the si­lent lyre

And breth­ren ask the ho­ly strain.

Nor fear thy Sa­lem’s hills to wrong

If oth­er lands thy tri­umph share;

A heav­en­ly ci­ty claims thy song

A bright­er Sa­lem ris­es there.

By for­eign streams no long­er roam

Nor

weep­ing

think of Jor­dan’s flood;

In ev­ery clime behold a home

In ev­ery tem­ple see thy God.