Be he Saxon, Dane or Norman,
That steps on thy kindly shore,
Who sets his foot on thy daisies
Is kinder for evermore,
For thy cead mille failtha
Thrills warm to his bosom's care.
But Erin, never contented
Struggles again and again,
As all proud and free born captives
Must strive with the conqueror's chain.
That, if ever snapped asunder,
Is riveted firm again
The words of an Hebrew exile,
Like to some sweet song's refrain,
That sweetly goeth and cometh
And echoes through heart and brain,
"Be sure that the day is coming
"When Erin shall rise again
"She only of all the nations,
"Since in dust our temple lies,
"Has not our blood on our garments
"Has brought no tears to our eyes,
"He says, they prosper who love us
"Thy Erin at last shall rise."
I waited, watched for the blessing
Promised, oh so long ago,
I looked for the brilliant future
The end of the long drawn woe,
My hopes, with my years, Time the reaper,
Hath laughingly laid them low.
Oh Erin! my mother Erin!
Will "to be" repeat what has been?
Will your sons ever "shoulder to shoulder"
Be strong and united seen?
Will ever the foreign lilies
Blend with the nation's green?
For in other lands the peoples,
Quite forgetting ancient wrong,
Have blended and fused, becoming
Because of their union strong,
Leaving all old feuds and battles,
As themes for romance and song
From party's Promethean vulture,
When wilt thou get release?
When will the strife of races,
The strife of religions cease?
And the hearts of thy loving children
Mingle and be at peace?
BEREAVEMENT.
(Job iii. 26)