Thou hast nourished on thy bosom many sons of deathless fame;
Who, while the world will last, shall shed a lustre on thy name.
While Foyle's proud swelling waters roll past Derry to the sea;
While yet a single vestige of old Limerick's walls there be;
Shall those who love thee well, fair land, lament that feuds divide
The sons of those who for each cause stood fast on either side.
From every ruined castle grey, well may the banshee cry
O'er bitter waters once let loose that have not yet run dry
O would the blessed time might come when, party feeling done,
The noble deeds of both sides will be gathered into one!
On the battle-fields of Europe thy sons quit themselves like men,
Till those who made them exiles longed for their good swords again,
Wherever fields were fought and won, in thickest of the fray,
Where steel bit steel, thy sons have fought and laurels bore away
And thou hast bards in deathless song thy heroes' praise to sing,
Or make hearts throb responsive when for love they touch the string
Thou hast lovely, white-armed daughters so tender and so true,
As modest as the daisies, and as spotless as the dew,
With flashes of sweet merriment, and virtue still and strong
They fire the patriot's heart and charm the poet into song
Thou hast nourished those right eloquent to plead with tongue and pen,
For those eternal rights which men so oft deny to men,
And land of saints in song like mine, but little can be said
Of those who stand for God between the living and the dead
Thou'rt not without His witnesses for children of thy sod,
In lofty and in lowly life, are found who walk with God
Land of the hearty welcome! who travels thy valleys o'er
Knows more of human kindness than he ever knew before.
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