1 By Babel's riverside we sat in tears,
Remembering Zion's pride in former years,
While on the weeping willows there were hung
The harps our grief had silenced and unstrung.
2 For they who led us there a captive throng
Required that we prepare for them a song;
Yea, there our captives asked for mirth and praise,
Required a song of Zion's happy days.
3 O how shall we thus sing at their command
Songs of the Lord, our King, in this strange land?
O Zion, if I e'er forget thy woe,
Let my right hand its skill no longer know.
4 Yea, let my tongue, i pray, all silent be,
If I do not alway remember thee;
If I prefer not thee, thought in thy grief,
Above all other joys my very chief.
The Psalter: with responsive readings, 1912