PSALM 137 L.M.
from "The Psalter Hymnal", 1927 ed.
Alt. by Davide Marney, 2006

By Babel's waters we sat and wept
For memory still to Zion clung;
The winds alone our harp-strings swept,
That on the weeping willows hung.

There our rude captors, flushed in their pride
A song required to mock our wrongs;
Our spoilers called for songs of mirth,
"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.


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