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 the devouring sword;
Now to Thy accustomed favor,
Let her children be restored,
And obey Thee
As their kind and rightful Lord.