To-day in Eire there is joy;
While harp and song wake gentle sounds;
The strains of tuneful throats are heard
Within old Albin’s gladdened bounds.
The pow’r that kindles this delight
Is that sweet tongue of those fair lands
Which lay so long in captive chains;
It wakens now and breaks the bands.
In it have terms of peace been sealed,
In it Jehovah’s praises sung;