By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept when we remembered Zion.
On the willows within her midst, we hung up our harps.
Yes, we hung up our harps.
There our captors demanded songs, and our mockers laughed as they said,
Now sing us the songs of Zion.
But how can we sing, oh how can we sing, the song of the Lord in a foreign land?
Should I ever forget you, oh Jerusalem, may my right hand forget her skill.
And may my tongue then also cling unto my moth's roof, if I don't remember you.
If I do not lift Jerusalem above my highest joy, above my highest joy,
for how can we sing, oh how can we sing, the song of the Lord in a foreign land?
Lord, remember how Edom's sons on the day of Jerusalem said, Destroy it right to the
ground.
Daughter of Babylon, destroying one, how blessed who pays you back with the
payment you paid to us.
Oh, how happy shall that one be who seizes your little ones to dash them upon the
rock.
For how can we sing, oh how can we sing, the song of the Lord in a foreign land?