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Rh ::No! sooner be my tongue
 * Mute, powerless, and unstrung,

Than its words of holy music make glad a stranger land.


 * May this right hand, whose skill
 * Can wake the harp at will,

And bid the listener’s joys or griefs in light or darkness come,
 * Forget its godlike power,
 * If for one brief, dark hour,

My heart forgets Jerusalem, fallen city of my home!


 * Daughter of Babylon!
 * Blessed be that chosen one,

Whom God shall send to smite thee when there is none to save:
 * He from the mother’s breast,
 * Shall pluck the babe at rest,

And lay it in the sleep of death beside its father’s grave.