Psalm 137

As on Euphrates shady banks we lay,
And there, O Sion, to thy Ashes pay
Our funerall teares: our silent Harps, unstrung,
And unregarded, on the Willowes hung.
Lo, they who had thy desolation wrought,
And captiv'd Judah unto Babel brought,
Deride the teares which from our Sorrowes spring;
And say in scorne, A Song of Sion sing.
Shall we prophane our Harps at their command?
Or holy Hymnes sing in a forraigne Land?
O Solyma! thou that art now become
A heape of stones, and to thy selfe a Tomb!
When I forget thee, my deare Mother, let
My fingers their melodious skill forget:
When I a joy disjoyn'd from thine, receive;
Then may my tongue unto my palate cleave.
Remember Edom, Lord; their cruell pride,
Who in the Sack of wretched Salem cry'd;
Downe with their Buildings, rase them to the ground,
Nor let one Stone be on another found.
Thou Babylon, whose Towers now touch the Skie,
That shortly shalt as low in ruines lie;
O happy! O thrice happy they, who shall
With equall cruelty revenge our fall!
That dash thy Childrens braines against the stones:
And without pity heare their dying grones.