Psalm 137
By the waters of Babylon there we sat,
and we wept at the thought of Zion.
There on the poplars we hung our harps.
For there our captors called for a song:
our tormentors, rejoicing, saying:
“Sing us one of the songs of Zion.”
How can we sing the Lord’s song
in the foreigner’s land?
If I forget you, Jerusalem,
may my right hand wither.
May my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth,
if I am unmindful of you,
or don’t set Jerusalem
above my chief joy.
Remember the Edomites, Lord,
the day of Jerusalem’s fall,
when they said, “Lay her bare, lay her bare,
right down to her very foundation.”
Babylon, despoiler,
happy are those who pay you back
for all you have done to us.
Happy are they who seize and dash
your children against the rocks.