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.