PSALM
the
137
th
,
Paraphras'd
to
the
7th
Verse
.
PRoud
Babylon
!
Thou
saw'st
us
weep
;
Euphrates
,
as
he
pass'd
along
,
Saw
,
on
his
Banks
,
the
Sacred
Throng
A
heavy
,
solemn
Mourning
keep
.
Sad
Captives
to
thy
Sons
,
and
Thee
,
When
nothing
but
our
Tears
were
Free
!
A
Song
of
Sion
they
require
,
And
from
the
neighb'ring
Trees
to
take
Each
Man
his
dumb
,
neglected
Lyre
,
And
chearful
Sounds
on
them
awake
:
But
chearful
Sounds
the
Strings
refuse
,
Nor
will
their
Masters
Griefs
abuse
.
How
can
We
,
Lord
,
thy
Praise
proclaim
,
Here
,
in
a
strange
unhallow'd
Land
!
Lest
we
provoke
them
to
Blaspheme
A
Name
,
they
do
not
understand
;
And
with
rent
Garments
,
that
deplore
Above
whate'er
we
felt
before
.
But
,
Thou
,
Jerusalem
,
so
Dear
!
If
thy
lov'd
Image
e'er
depart
,
Or
I
forget
thy
Suff'rings
here
;
Let
my
right
Hand
forget
her
Art
;
My
Tongue
her
vocal
Gift
resign
,
And
Sacred
Verse
no
more
be
mine
!