Your harps, ye tearful saints,
Down from the willows take;
No more by Bab'lon's streams sit down
And weep for Zion's sake.
The spirit of our God
Hath tuned the harp divine,
And now, in grandest harmony,
Its melodies combine.
Take down the harp divine,
Sweep o'er its many strings;
They call to Zion, Rise and shine!
Thy God salvation brings.
No more an exile roam;
Accept thy liberty;
God calls his faithful people home,
Sets error's captives free.
Let such go up and build
The temple of our God,
And let their souls, with courage filled,
Publish the news abroad.