“What send ye else, old Mother, to raise our mighty wall?
For we must build against Kings and Wrongs a fortress never to fall.”
“I send you in cradle and bosom, wise brain and eloquent tongue,
Whose crowns should engild my crowning, whose songs for me should be sung.
Oh, flowers unblown, from lonely fields, my daughters with hearts aglow,
With pulses warm with sympathies, with bosoms pure as snow,—
I smile through tears as the clouds unroll—my widening river that runs!
My lost ones grown in radiant growth—proud mothers of free-born sons.”
“It is well, aye, well, old Erin! The sons you give to me
Are symboled long in flag and song—your Sunburst on the Sea.