Psalm 137 (Super flumina)

Nigh seated where the river flowes
That watreth Babells thanckfull plaine,
Which then our teares in pearled rowes
Did help to water with their raine:
The thought of Sion bred such woes,
That though our harpes we did retaine,
Yet uselesse, and untouched there
On willowes only hang'd they were.

Now while our harpes were hanged soe,
The men, whose captives then we lay
Did on our griefs insulting goe,
And more to grieve us thus did say:
You that of musique make such show
Come sing us now a Sion lay.
O no, we have nor voice, nor hand
For such a song, in such a land.

Though farre I lye, sweete Sion hill,
In forraine soile exil'd from thee,
Yet let my hand forgett his skill,
If ever thou forgotten be:
Yea lett my tongue fast glued still
Unto my roofe lye mute in me:
If thy neglect within me spring,
Or ought I do but Salem sing.

But thou, O Lord, will not forgett
To quit the paines of Edoms race,
Who causelessly, yet hottly sett
Thy holy citty to deface,
Did thus the bloody victors whet
What time they entred first the place
Downe downe with it at any hand,
Make all flatt plaine, lett nothing stand.

And Babilon, that didst us wast,
Thy self shalt one daie wasted be:
And happy he, who what thou hast
Unto us done, shall do to thee,
Like bitterness shall make thee tast,
Like wofull objects cause thee see:
Yea happy, who thy little ones
Shall take and dash against the stones.