Classic Poem

Remember , Lord, th' afflictions we have borne,
See how we are to all the world a scorn!
Our lands and houses foreigners possess,
Our mothers widows, and we fatherless.
To us our wood the greedy stranger sells,
And dearly-purchas'd water from our wells.
Our necks with heavy burdens are oppress'd;
All day we toil, at night depriv'd of rest.
We, in th' Egyptian and Assyrian lands,
Are forc'd to beg our bread with stretch'd-out hands.
Our fathers, who transgress'd, in death remain,
And we the pressure of their sins sustain.
Who were our vassals, now our sovereigns are,
And none survive to comfort our despair.
With peril of our lives we seek our food,
The sword in pathless deserts thirsts for blood,
While storms of famine mutiny within,
And, like a furnace, tan the sapless skin.
In Judah's cities virgins they made whore,
In Sion ravish'd wives their wrongs deplore.
They crucify our princes in their rage,
Nor honour the aspect of rev'rend age.
Our youth enforce to grind, with lashes gall,
And boys beneath their cruel burdens fall.
No judge on high tribunals now appears,
No music draws our souls into our ears;
Joy from our broken hearts exiléd flies,
Our mirth is chang'd to mourning elegies.
The crown from our eclipséd brows is torn;
By all, except Thy punishments, forlorn.
Woe to our sins! for these we waste our years
In servitude. We drown our eyes with tears
For thee, deserted Sion! Foxes dwell
Among thy ruins. Who our woes can tell?
Yet, Lord, Thou ever liv'st: Thy throne shall last
When funeral flames the world to cinders waste.
O why hast Thou so long forgot Thine own?
Wilt Thou forsake us as if never known?
O call us back, that we Thy Face may view,
Those happy days we once enjoy'd renew.
But Thou hast cast us off, to tread the path
Of exile; made the object of thy wrath.