Psalm 137

THE Rivers near of Babylon,
there sate we mournfully,
On desolate Zion we thought
and wept abundantly.
Our Harps once instruments of joy,
used Gods praise to sound,
We hang'd aside on willow trees,
which planted there we found.

For there of us a song they ask'd,
that us did captives bring,
Our spoilers call'd for mirth, and said,
a song of Zion sing.
Shall we those sacred songs ordain'd
for praises of our God,
Prophane? amongst these heathen where
we scattred lie abroad?

O dearly lov'd Jerusalem,
O Zions sacred hill,
If I forget you, my right hand
shall quite forget her skill.
If I forget thee, let my tongue
cleave to my palate fast,
If I joy till Jerusalems
sorrows be over past.

Remember Edom, Lord, who in
Jerusalems sad day
Cry'd out, to the foundations down,
raze it, raze it, we say.
Daughter of Babel, justly thou
ere long destroy'd shalt be,
Happy the man thy deeds to us
who shall reward to thee.

Yea, happy shall he be that plucks
thy dearest little ones
Out of thy bosome, to dash out
their brains against the stones.