Burdened with grief and sick with vain desires
And passionate longings, silently we wept
Beside the streams of Babylon, and kept
Our thoughts on thee, oh Zion! Our hushed lyres
Hung, stringless, on the willows, “Sing,” cried they
Who spoiled our homes and made of us a prey,
“Sing us a song of Zion!” Vain demand!
Wasted and worn, our temple-courts profaned—
Our harps are mute—our cheeks with weeping stained—
How can we sing amid the stranger’s land?
If thee, Jerusalem! my soul forget
Amid the toil of bondage and its pain,
Let my right hand no more its skill retain,
And silence on my tongue its signet set!
