1021    L.M.     T. Kelly
“By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down.” Ps. 137. 1

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.