By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down.
Yes, we wept, when we remembered Zion.
On the willows in that land, we hung up our harps.
For there, those who led us captive asked us for songs.
Those who tormented us demanded songs of joy: “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
How can we sing the LORD’s song in a foreign land?
If I forget you, Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its skill.
Let my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth if I don’t remember you, if I don’t prefer Jerusalem above my chief joy.