By the rivers of Babylon— there we sat down and wept when we remembered Zion.There we hung up our lyres on the poplar trees,for our captors there asked us for songs, and our tormentors, for rejoicing:“ Sing us one of the songs of Zion.”How can we sing the Lord’s song on foreign soil?
The new wine mourns; the vine withers. All the carousers now groan.The joyful tambourines have ceased. The noise of the jubilant has stopped. The joyful lyre has ceased.They no longer sing and drink wine; beer is bitter to those who drink it.