“By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down.” Ps. 137. 1
T. Kelly L.M.
1
O Zion, when I think on thee,
I wish for pinions like the dove,
And mourn to think that I should be
So distant from the place I love.
2
A captive here, and far from home,
For Zion’s sacred walls I sigh;
To Zion all the ransomed come,
And see the Saviour eye to eye.
3
While here, I walk on hostile ground;
The few that I can call my friends
Are, like myself, with fetters bound,
And weariness our steps attends.
4
But yet we shall behold the day,
When Zion’s children shall return;
Our sorrows then shall flee away,
And we shall never, never mourn.
5
The hope that such a day will come
Makes e’en the captive’s portion sweet;
Though now we wander far from home,
In Zion soon we all shall meet.
