By Babel’s turbid stream we sat
Lamenting our sad fate,
When we remembered Zion’s walls
And sat within her gates.
Our harps we on the willows hung.
Nor could we cheerful be
With tuneful notes or joyful song,
But sorrowful were we.
Our enemies would taunting say,
Of Zion let us hear;
With cheerful song and joyous mirth
Salute our listening ear.
How can we in this foreign land
Lift up our cheerful voice
To sing the songs of Zion here,
Or in the Lord rejoice.
If I forget thee, O my home,
May I forgetful be
Of the blest power, Jerusalem,
To tune my harp for them.
O Lord, remember Zion’s foes,
And o’er their guilty head
Let floods of thy displeasure flow
Till numbered with the dead.
And may thy church by grace divine,
Yet raise thy praises higher,
And Zion in thy glory shine
And all her foes expire.
– R. White (from an early Advent Review)
