Zion, by her God for­sak­en,
Sits a mourn­er on the ground;
By the foe her walls are tak­en,
Desolation reigns around;
Can no suc­cor,
No de­liv­er­ance be found?

Where is now that pomp and splen­dor
Which ar­rayed her re­gal head?
Where is ev­ery brave de­fend­er,
Who once filled her foes with dread?
Where the glo­ry
Which the Lord around her spread?

Is there none to shield from dan­gers
Judah’s long ne­glect­ed race?
None to check the feet of stran­gers,
Which de­file her ho­ly place?
None to pi­ty,
And wipe off her deep dis­grace?

Yes, the Lord will re­as­sem­ble
Zion’s sons, though far dis­persed;
Then shall her op­press­ors trem­ble,
When her sen­tence is re­versed;
God will make her
Glorious as she was at first.

Look on Zi­on, Lord, and save her
Now from each de­vour­ing sword;
Now to Thy ac­cus­tom­ed fa­vor,
Let her child­ren be re­stored,
And ob­ey Thee
As their kind and right­ful Lord.