The Choir and The Oratory or Praise and Prayer. By Josiah Conder |
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Psalm cxxxvii. |
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 | The Choir and The Oratory |  |
115
III. Psalm cxxxvii.
By Babel's willowy stream we sate
And wept,—a mournful band:
We thought of Sion's cruel fate,
And our once glorious land;
And on the branches, all unstrung
By grief, our voiceless harps we hung.
And wept,—a mournful band:
We thought of Sion's cruel fate,
And our once glorious land;
And on the branches, all unstrung
By grief, our voiceless harps we hung.
For those who led us captive there,
Those who had done us wrong,
Demanded mirth from our despair,
And bade us wake the song.
But how, with faltering voice and hand,
Raise Sion's song in heathen land?
Those who had done us wrong,
Demanded mirth from our despair,
And bade us wake the song.
But how, with faltering voice and hand,
Raise Sion's song in heathen land?
If I forget thee, Salem, let
My right hand all its skill
And tuneful craft e'en so forget;
My tongue no more fulfil
Its office, when I prize thee less
Than aught of earthly happiness.
My right hand all its skill
And tuneful craft e'en so forget;
My tongue no more fulfil
116
Than aught of earthly happiness.
Remember, Lord! fierce Edom's joy
At Judah's overthrow:
“Raze, raze the walls—o'erturn, destroy”—
They said, and cheered the foe.
Remember, and requite to them
Their hatred towards Jerusalem.
At Judah's overthrow:
“Raze, raze the walls—o'erturn, destroy”—
They said, and cheered the foe.
Remember, and requite to them
Their hatred towards Jerusalem.
Thou, too, who madest desolate,
Shalt be thyself laid waste.
Proud City, thine shall be our fate;
Thy sons our misery taste.
Blest be his ruthless hand from whom
Thy little ones shall meet their doom!
Shalt be thyself laid waste.
Proud City, thine shall be our fate;
Thy sons our misery taste.
Blest be his ruthless hand from whom
Thy little ones shall meet their doom!
| The Choir and The Oratory | |