By the rivers of Babylon
there we sat, and wept, remembering Zion.
There on the poplars we hung up our lyres
for our captors asked us there for songs,
our tormentors, for amusement,
"Sing us one of the songs of Zion."
How can we sing God's song in a strange land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
let my right hand wither;
let my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth;
if I cease to think of you,
if I do not keep Jeruslaem in memory
even at my happiest hour.