Words: Brady and Tate, A New Version of the Psalms of David
1 When we, our wearied limbs to rest, sat down by proud Euphrates' stream, We wept, with doleful thoughts oppressed, and Zion was our mournful theme.
2 Our harps, that when with joy we sung, were wont their tuneful parts to bear, With silent strings neglected hung on willow trees that withered there.
3 Meanwhile our foes, who all conspired to triumph in our slavish wrongs, Music and mirth of us required; "Come, sing us one of Zion's songs."
4 How shall we tune our voice to sing? or touch our harps with skilful hands? Shall hymns of joy to God our King be sung by slaves in foreign lands?
5 O Salem, our once happy seat ! when I of thee forgetful prove, Let then my trembling hand forget the speaking strings with art to move.
6 If I to mention thee forbear, eternal silence seize my tongue; Or if I sing one cheerful air, till thy deliv'rance is my song.
7 Remember, Lord, how Edom's race, in thy own city's fatal day, cried out, "Her stately walls deface, and with the ground quite level lay."
8 Proud Babel's daughter, doomed to be of grief and woe the wretched prey; Blessed is the man who shall to thee the wrongs thou lay'st on us repay.
9 Thrice blessed, who with just rage possessed, and deaf to all the parents' moans, Shall snatch thy infants from the breast, and dash their heads against the stones.