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 Oh Salem, our once happy seat,
When I of thee forgetful prove,
Let then my trembling hand forget
The speaking strings with art to move!
4 If I to mention thee forbear,
Perpetual silence be my doom;
Or if my chiefest joy compare
With thee, Jerusalem, my home!Source: The Book of Worship #120