Psalms 137:1-6

Along the banks of Babylon’s rivers we sat as exiles, mourning our captivity, and wept with great love for Zion. Our music and mirth were no longer heard, only sadness. We hung up our harps on the willow trees. Our captors tormented us, saying, “Make music for us and sing one of your happy Zion-songs!” But how could we sing the song of the Lord in this foreign wilderness? May my hands never make music again if I ever forget you, O Jerusalem. May I never be able to sing again if I fail to honor Jerusalem supremely!