1. Down by the river’s verdant side,
Low by the solitary tide,
There, while the peaceful waters slept,
We pensively sat down and wept,
And on the bending willows hung
Our silent harps through grief unstrung.
2. For they who wasted Zion’s bowers
And laid in dust her ruined towers
In scorn their weary slaves desire
To strike the chords of Israel’s lyre,
And in their impious ears to sing
The sacred songs to Zion’s King.
3. How shall we tune those lofty strains
On Babylon’s polluted plains,
When low in ruin on the earth
Remains the place that gave us birth,
And stern destruction’s iron hand
Still sways our desolated land.
4. O never shall our harps awake,
Laid in the dust for Zion’s sake.
Forever on the willows hung,
Their music hushed; their chords unstrung;
Lost Zion! city of our God,
While groaning ’neath the tyrant’s rod.
5. Still mould’ring lie thy leveled walls
And ruin stalks along thy halls.
And brooding o’er thy ruined towers
Such desolation sternly lowers,
That when we muse upon thy woe,
The gushing tears of sorrow flow!
6. And while we toil through wretched life
And drink the bitter cup of strife,
Until we yield our weary breath,
And sleep released from woe in death,
Will Zion in our memory stand—
Our lost, our ruined native land.