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A New Version of the Psalms of David

Fitted to the Tunes used in Churches. By Sir Richard Blackmore

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 XXXVII. 
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Psalm CXXXVII.
  
  
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 CXL. 
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Psalm CXXXVII.

1

By Babel's Streams we sat, and wept

When, Zion, we remember'd thee.

2

Our useless Harps, which long had slept,

We hung upon the Willow Tree.

3

For they, who did us Captive bring,

Desir'd our tuneful Art to hear;
And they, who spoil'd us, bade us sing
One of the Songs to Zion dear.

4

Jehovah's Song how could we set,

And sing it in a Stranger's Land?

5

If I, O Salem, thee forget,

May tuneful Skill leave my Right Hand.

6

Should I neglect Thee, or should I,

Than Thee, a dearer Pleasure know,
Then let my fault'ring Tongue grow dry,
Cleave to my Roof, and speechless grow.

7

O Lord, remember Edom's Race,

Who in Jerusalem's sad Day,
Said rase it, rase it, this vile Place
To its Foundations level lay.

301

8

To Ruin doom'd, O Babylon,

The mighty Man shall happy be,
Who as thy Sons to us have done,
With just Revenge shall do to thee.

9

May Blessings ne'er the Man forsake

The Conq'rour, who thy Woes shall mock,
And merciless thy Children take,
And dash their Heads against the Rock.

Another Metre.

1

While on the Streams of Babylon

We sad and pensive sate,
We sorely wept when we begun
To think on Zion's State.

2

All Joy and Mirth we now detest,

Our Instruments unstrung,
Our Harps we now with Woe opprest
Upon the Willows hung.

3

The Lords, who Israel Captive led,

Did Hymns of us require,
And let us hear, our Spoilers said,
A Song of Zion's Quire.

4

In a strange Land the Song desir'd

Our Pleasure can't produce;
Shall we profane a Song inspir'd
By God for Zion's Use?

5

If ever I, Jerusalem,

Exclude thee from my Heart,
Let my Right Hand, which I'll condemn,
Forget its tuneful Art.

302

6

Should I neglect Thee, and not show

Thou art my greatest Joy,
Dry let my Tongue and tasteless grow,
And Speech no more employ.

7

Lord, Edom's cruel Sons confound,

Who said in Salem's Day,
Now rase it, rase it, to the Ground
Her Buildings level lay.

8

To Ruin doom'd proud Babylon,

O happy let him be,
Who, as thy Sons to us have done,
Enrag'd shall do to thee.

9

Let Blessings ne'er the Man forsake,

Who shall thy Ruin mock,
And in his Wrath thy Children take,
And dash them on the Rock.