Why On The Bending Willows Hung


High on the bending willows hung,
Israel, still sleeps the tuneful string?
Still mute remains the sullen tongue,
And Sion’s song delays to sing?

Awake! thy loudest raptures raise;
Let harp and voice unite their strains;
Thy promised King His sceptre sways;
Behold, thy own Messiah reigns.

By foreign streams no longer roam,
And weeping, think on Jordan’s flood;
In every clime behold a home,
In every temple see thy God.

No taunting foes the song require;
No strangers mock thy captive chain:
Thy friends provoke the silent lyre,
And brethren ask the holy strain.

Then why, on bending willows hung,
Israel, still sleeps the tuneful string?
Why mute remains the sullen tongue,
And Sion’s song delays to sing?