1
By Babel's streams we sat and wept, For memory still to Zion clung; The winds alone our harpstrings swept, That on the drooping willows hung.
2
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.
3
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?
4
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.
5
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.
6
Remember, Lord, the dreadful day Of Zion's cruel overthrow; How happy he who shall repay The bitter hatred of her foe.