Our captors demanded we sing songs of joy
“Sing songs of your homeland,” they said to annoy
But how can we lift up the songs of the Lord
As captives, oppressed, under threat of the sword?
Jerusalem’s mem’ries with me sure will stay
Or let my right hand simply wither away
My tongue be unable to utter a sound
If my greatest joy in you is not found.
O Lord, You recall Edom’s joy when we fell
When Babylon struck, “Tear it down!” they did yell
You’re doomed, Babylon, and will certainly fall
We’ll rejoice when you’re gone, your babies and all!
© J Dan Small