Note that the book from which this song was taken is currently out of print.

1. When we our wearied limbs to rest,
Sat down by proud Euphrates' streams,
We wept with doleful thoughts oppressed,
And Zion was our mournful theme.

Our harps, that when with joy we sung,
Were wont their tunful parts to bear,
With silent strings neglected hung,
On willow trees that withered there

2. O God, my sun, thy blessful rays
Can warm, rejoice, and guide my heart!
How dark, how mournful are my days,
If thy enlivening beams depart!.

Scarce through the shades a glimpse of day
Appears to these desiring eyes!
But shall my drooping spirit say,
The cheerful morn will never rise?