By the rivers of Babylon
we sit down and weep
when we remember Zion.
On the poplars in her midst
we hang our harps,
for there our captors ask us to compose songs;
those who mock us demand that we be happy, saying:
“Sing for us a song about Zion!”
How can we sing a song to the Lord
in a foreign land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
may my right hand be crippled!
May my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth,
if I do not remember you,
and do not give Jerusalem priority
over whatever gives me the most joy.
Remember, O Lord, what the Edomites did
on the day Jerusalem fell.
They said, “Tear it down, tear it down,
right to its very foundation!”
O daughter Babylon, soon to be devastated!
How blessed will be the one who repays you
for what you dished out to us!
How blessed will be the one who grabs your babies
and smashes them on a rock!