"Where are they now who wrought this fiendish wrong?
We hate the actors, and have hated long.
And where are they, the victims? Always here;
We feel their glory, and we hold it dear!
Oh yes, 'tis ours! that glory still is ours,
And, lo! how breaks it on these festive hours;
Each heart is warm, each eye lit up with pride,
'Tis sanction'd in our loves and sanctified!
Far o'er the earth—the Christianised—where'er