MOURNING IN BABYLON

1OH, no, we cannot sing our songs,
Our glad and cheerful lays;
Our sorrowing harps refuse their strings,
To Zion's joyful strains.
They bid us be in mirthful mood,
And dry these tears so sad;
But Judah's hearths are desolate,
And how can we be glad?

2Our silent harps o'er Babel's streams
Are hung on willows lone,
We'll mourn until our absent Lord
Returns to claim his own.
When 'neath the curse the groaning earth,
Moans forth her plaintive prayer,
How can we sing with joy and mirth?
Oh, no, her grief we'll share.

3How can we sing when martyrs mourn—
"How long, O Lord, how long?"
How can our souls gush forth in joy,
And swell with raptured song?
Then bid us not refrain from grief,
For we must still be sad;
Until the "morning star" arise,
We will no more be glad.