Psalm the 137th paraphrased.
I
As prostrate on the Banks we lay
Where thy fam'd Streams, Euphrates, flow,
We weep'd, and sigh'd our Hearts away,
Fast fell our Tears, the Fruits of Woe.
II
The rising Sun our Griefs did see,
The seting Sun, beheld the same,
When wretched we remember'd thee,
O! Sion, Sion, lovely Name!
III
Our Harps, no more delightful, hung
On the fresh Verdure of the Trees;
No longer touch'd, no longer strung,
They murmur'd mournful to the Breez.
IV
As thus forlorn we pass'd the Day,
Insulting thus the Conqu'ror cry'd,
Resume the Lyre, and chant the Lay,
The Note so oft' in Sion try'd.
V
In a strange Land how shall we sing
Thy Song, O! God, almighty Pow'r?
What Hand can wake the silent String
In the distressful heavy Hour?
VI
Once happy City, now oppress'd,
When you, to Mem'ry loss'd, depart,
Salem, from my ingrateful Breast,
May my right Hand forget her Art.
VII
If in the glad, the feasting, Day,
If when the Song of Joy is sung,
From thee seduc'd my Thoughts should stray,
For ever speechless be my Tongue.
VIII
The Sons of Edom, God, recall
To Mind, who in the Battel cry'd,
Down Salem, down proud City fall,
And lower to the Dust thy Pride.
IX
Daughters of Babylon beware,
Tho now thy Sons in Triumph shine,
From whom we bore, and much we bear,
Our Lot severe may once be thine.
X
Vengeance may be delay'd awhile,
Yet shall o'ertake ye sure, tho late;
Then shall the happy Victor smile,
Who brings on Edom Israel's Fate.
XI
Happy the Man whom Heav'n ordains
Relentless to revenge our Wrongs:
Then proud Insulters strive in Chains
To strike your Lyres, and chant your Songs.
XII
Bless'd shall he be, yea doubly bless'd,
Who tears, before the Father's Eyes,
The tender Infant from the Breast,
Whom neither Vows can save, nor Crys.
