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Anne Kingsmill Finch - Psalm The 137th Paraphras`d To The 7th Verse
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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!
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