Abbeydorney, Abbeydorney,
Long ago thy race was run,
Prone thou art ’mid thickets thorny,
Shrine of Kyrie Eleison!
Scarcely now a wild rose petal
The neglected cloister owns,
And the flaunting dock and nettle
Wave above the chancel stones.
Once through Kerry twilights tender
Vesper bells their anthems tolled,