Psalms 137:1-4

• [Psa 137:2] Your Harps, Ye Trembling Saints

  Your harps, ye trembling saints, Down from the willows take; Loud to the praise of love divine Bid every string awake. Though in a foreign land We are not far from home, And nearer to our house above We every moment come. His grace will to the end Stronger and brighter shine; Nor present things nor things to come Shall quench the spark divine. When we in darkness walk, Nor feel the heavenly flame, Then is the time to trust our God, And rest upon His Name. Soon shall our doubts and fears Subside at His control; His lovingkindness shall break through The midnight of the soul. Blest is the man, O Lord! That stays himself on Thee; Who wait for Thy salvation, Lord! Shall thy salvation see.

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  source: Cyberhymnal

• [Psa 137:4] Creator Of The World, To Thee

  Creator of the world, to Thee And endless rest of joy belongs; And heavenly choirs are ever free To sing on high their festal songs. But we are fallen creatures here, Where pain and sorrow daily come; And how can we in exile drear Sing out, as they, sweet songs of Home? O Father, who dost promise still That they who mourn shall blessèd be, Grant us to weep for deeds of ill That banish us so long from Thee. But weeping, grant us faith to rest In hope upon Thy loving care; Till Thou restore us, with the blest, Their songs of praise in Heav’n to share. To Father, Son and Holy Ghost, The God Whom Heav’n and earth adore, From men and from the angel host Be praise and glory evermore.

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  source: Cyberhymnal