PSALM CXXXVII. 223 Psalm crrrvii. "By the Rivers of Babylon." WE sat us down and wept Where Babel's waters slept, And we thought of home and Zion as a longgone, happy dream; We hung our harps in air On the willow boughs which there, Gloomy as round a sepulchre, were drooping o'er the stream. The foes, whose chain we wore, Exulting in our tears that told the bitterness of woe. "Sing us," they cried aloud, "Ye once so high and proud, The songs ye sang in Zion ere we laid her glory low." And shall the harp of heaven, To Judah's monarch given, Be touch'd by captive fingers, or grace a fetter'd hand? No! sooner be my tongue Mute, powerless, unstrung, Than its words of holy music make glad a stranger land. May this right hand, whose skill Can wake the harp at will, And bid the listeners' joys or griefs in light or darkness come, Forget its godlike power, If, for one brief, dark hour, My heart forgets Jerusalem, fallen city of my home! COUNT each affliction, whether light or grave, Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow Of mortal tumult to obliterate The soul's marmorean calmness. Grief should be, Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate, Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free; Strong to consume small troubles, to commend Great thoughts, grave thoughts, lasting to the end. Thou God Seest Me. O GOD unseen, but not unknown, Throughout this universe of space For flight of time, and change of place, Parents I had, but where are they? Friends whom I knew I know no more; Companions once that cheer'd my way Have dropp'd behind, or gone before. Now I am one amid the crowd Of life and action, hurrying round: Now left alone,-for, like a cloud, They came, they went, and are not found. |