We sat down by the streams of Babylon and wept there, remembering Sion.

Willow-trees grow there, and on these we hung up our harps

when the men who took us prisoner cried out for a song. We must make sport for our enemies; A stave, there, from the music they sing at Sion!

What, should we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?

Jerusalem, if I forget thee, perish the skill of my right hand!

Let my tongue stick fast to the roof of my mouth if I cease to remember thee, if I love not Jerusalem dearer than heart’s content!

Remember, Lord, how the sons of Edom triumphed when Jerusalem fell; O’erthrow it, they cried, o’erthrow it, till the very foundation is left bare.

Babylon, pitiless queen, blessed be the man who deals out to thee the measure thou hast dealt to us;

blessed be the man who will catch up thy children, and dash them against the rocks!