 | Poetical works (1908) |  |
PSAL. 137.
[Where Perah's flowers]
Where
Perah's flowers
Perfume proud Babels bowers,
And paint her wall;
There we laid asteeping
Our eyes in endlesse weeping,
For Sions fall.
Our feasts and songs we laid aside;
On forlorn willows
(By Perah's billows)
We hung our harps, and mirth and joy defi'd,
That Sions ruines should build foul Babels pride.
Perfume proud Babels bowers,
And paint her wall;
There we laid asteeping
Our eyes in endlesse weeping,
For Sions fall.
Our feasts and songs we laid aside;
On forlorn willows
(By Perah's billows)
We hung our harps, and mirth and joy defi'd,
That Sions ruines should build foul Babels pride.
253
Our conqu'rours vaunting
With bitter scoffes and taunting,
Thus proudly jest;
Take down your harps, and string them,
Recall your songs, & sing them,
For Sions feast.
Were our harps well tun'd in every string,
Our heart-strings broken,
Throats drown'd, and soken
With tears and sighs, how can we praise and sing
The King of heav'n under an heathen king?
With bitter scoffes and taunting,
Thus proudly jest;
Take down your harps, and string them,
Recall your songs, & sing them,
For Sions feast.
Were our harps well tun'd in every string,
Our heart-strings broken,
Throats drown'd, and soken
With tears and sighs, how can we praise and sing
The King of heav'n under an heathen king?
In all my mourning,
Jerusalem, thy burning
If I forget;
Forget thy running,
My hand, and all thy cunning
To th' harp to set:
Let thy mouth, my tongue, be still thy grave;
Lie there asleeping,
For Sion weeping:
Oh let mine eyes in tears thy office have;
Nor rise, nor set, but in their brinie wave.
Jerusalem, thy burning
If I forget;
Forget thy running,
My hand, and all thy cunning
To th' harp to set:
Let thy mouth, my tongue, be still thy grave;
Lie there asleeping,
For Sion weeping:
Oh let mine eyes in tears thy office have;
Nor rise, nor set, but in their brinie wave.
Proud Edoms raging,
Their hate with bloud asswaging,
And vengefull sword,
Their cursed joying
In Sions walls destroying
Remember, Lord:
Forget not, Lord, their spightfull cry,
Fire and deface it,
Destroy and raze it;
Oh let the name of Sion ever die:
Thus did they roare, and us and thee defie.
Their hate with bloud asswaging,
And vengefull sword,
Their cursed joying
In Sions walls destroying
Remember, Lord:
Forget not, Lord, their spightfull cry,
Fire and deface it,
Destroy and raze it;
Oh let the name of Sion ever die:
Thus did they roare, and us and thee defie.
So shall thy towers
And all thy princely bowers,
Proud Babel, fall:
Him ever blessed,
Who th' oppressour hath oppressed,
Shall all men call:
Thrice blest, that turns thy mirth to grones;
That burns to ashes
Thy towers, and dashes
Thy brats 'gainst rocks, to wash thy bloudie stones
With thine own bloud, and pave thee with thy bones.
And all thy princely bowers,
Proud Babel, fall:
Him ever blessed,
Who th' oppressour hath oppressed,
Shall all men call:
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That burns to ashes
Thy towers, and dashes
Thy brats 'gainst rocks, to wash thy bloudie stones
With thine own bloud, and pave thee with thy bones.
| Poetical works (1908) | |