O Zion, when I think of thee,
I wish for pinions like a dove,
And mourn to think that I should be
So distant from the place I love.

An exile here, and far from home,
For Zion’s sacred walls I sigh;
Thither the ransom’d nations come,
And see the Saviour eye to eye.

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.

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.

The hope that such a day will come
Makes ev’n the exile’s portion sweet;
Though now we wander far from home,
In Zion soon we all shall meet.