Psalm The 137th 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!

by Anne Kingsmill Finch

Comments (19)

Beautiful! I remembered my mamma while reading this.Her soul has been taken away in heavens but my love will never die for her! Everyone understands the meanings of thinga from their experiences, I took it as this.😊
Add a comment. i really ,really love your poems
Add a comment. i love your poem about Sorry,I Am Sorry My Love
Add a comment. nice poem
I will not see you again but your memories will stay for ever A touching poem.
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