Written in 1854 Let us weep for New Plymouth her glory is gone, The man she has chosen is the Infidel B --- Whose greatest delight in times past we are told Was to scoff at the faith which Christians uphold. Ah! who would have thought that the sons of a Land Where the Altars of Christ in their purity stand Would have so far forsaken the faith they adored As elect for their chief a Foe to their Lord. Strong Cities, that once stood both stately and fair No longer, are found, or desolate are -"And the owl and the Bittern cries to her mate" In halls where Kings and their nobles have sat. And why are they thus? in the height of their pride They scoffed at their God! his vengeance defied, To punish their sins, the fiat was given, To blot out their names from the land of the living.