By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept at the memory of Zion.
On the poplars there we had hung up our harps.
For there our jailers had asked us to sing them a song, our captors to make merry, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion."
How could we sing a song of Yahweh on alien soil?
If I forget you, Jerusalem, may my right hand wither!
May my tongue remain stuck to my palate if I do not keep you in mind, if I do not count Jerusalem the greatest of my joys.
Remember, Yahweh, to the Edomites' cost, the day of Jerusalem, how they said, 'Down with it! Rase it to the ground!'
Daughter of Babel, doomed to destruction, a blessing on anyone who treats you as you treated us, a blessing on anyone who seizes your babies and shatters them against a rock!