Classic Poem

I.

'T WAS on the gentle brink reclin'd,
Of fair Euphrates' murm'ring wave,
When Zion's fate we call'd to mind,
Salt tears our languid cheeks did lave.

II.

There, on the willows bending low,
Our untun'd joyless harps we hung;
For what but grief could from us flow,
When unrelenting foes among?

III.

Ah! how the victors mock'd our story,
Exulting o'er our helpless state;
Sing now, said they, of Zion's glory,
And, in your mirth, forget your fate.

IV.

How shall we joy in land prophane,
Or sound Jebovab 's matchless praise?
How sing the wonders of his reign,
To those who slight celestial lays?

V.

Rather than I, in evil hour,
Should cease to think of Judah's wrong,
May my right arm be void of pow'r,
And dumb, for ever, be my tongue.

VI.

Let, O Lord, thy wrath in thunder,
Speak devoted Edom's ruin,
Who, a-thirst for blood and plunder,
Work'd fair Judah's sad undoing.

VII.

And thou, O Babel! doom'd to slaughter,
With just return of sighs and groans!
Blest, who each infant son and daughter,
Shall dash for thee against the stones.