Oh, poor Plymouth, how dost thou moan!
Thy children, all, are from thee gone;
And left thou art, in widow's state-
Poor, helpless, sad, and desolate.
Some thou hast had, it is well known,
Who sought thy good before their own.
But times are changed, those days are gone,
And therefore thou art left alone.
To make others rich, thyself art poor;
They are increased out of thy store.
But, growing rich, they thee forsake,